UNIVERSITY  OF 
CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 


presented  to  the 
UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
SAN  DIEGO 

by 
Douglas  Warren 


THE  UNIVERSITY  UBRAOT" 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DfcGO 

-A  JOLLA.  CALIFORNIA 


LOVE-BOUND 

AND    OTHER    POEMS 


LOVE-BOUND 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

ADALINE  TALCOTT  EMERSON 


THIRD    EDITION 


PRINTED    AT 

THE    UNIVERSITY    PRESS 

CAMBRIDGE,    MASSACHUSETTS 

MDCCCCIX 


COPYRIGHT  1894  BY 

ADALINB   TALCOTT   KMERSON 
ROCKFORD  ILLINOIS 


I 

TO 

MY    BLESSED    HUSBAND, 

THE  INSPIRATION  OF  MY  LIFE,  AND  THE 
DEAR  CHILDREN,  THE  FRUIT  OF  OUR  LOVE, 
I  DEDICATE  THIS  VOLUME,  THE  OUTCOME 
OF  MANY  EXPERIENCES,  THE  RIPENING 
THOUGHT  OF  MANY  YEARS. 


A   FORE- WORD  AND  FOR- WORD. 


POETRY  is,  among  other  things,  the  universal  ex 
pression  of  individual  emotion.     This  gives  verse 
its   importance   and  its  audacity.      There  is  a' 
sense  in  which  each  essay  in  verse  challenges  all' 
the  past,  and  enters  the  list  with   the  great  of 
all  time.     But  there  comes  a  season,  both  early 
and  late,  in  all  tongues,  when  verse  is  common  to 
all.     Once  early,  when  speech  is  still  fluid,  in 
the  days  of  the  ballad,  and  once  late,  as  in  our 
own  day,  when  the  field  of  verse  is  once  more 
open  to  all,  because  the  seeds  of  rhyme  have  been 
sown  in  every  soul.      At  such  a  time  in  each 
tongue,  verse  becomes  the  frequent  resource  of  per- 


4  A   FORE- WORD  AND  FOR- WORD. 

sonal  emotion,  in  utterance,  strictly  personal,  and 
owing  its  interest  to  personal  relations.  Such 
verse  deserves  record  and  revelation,  not  for  the 
outer  -world,  but  for  those  by  whom  it  was 
prompted  and  to  whom  it  was  addressed.  Too 
often  such  volumes  are  given  the  hard  stress  of 
the  market,  the  critic's  table,  and  by  sad  fate  at 
length  reach  the  book-stall.  Among  the  lesser 
pathetics  of  letters,  there  is  perhaps  none  which 
so  touches  a  heart  to  which  books  live,  as  the 
sight  of  the  slender  volume  which  once  held  the 
record  of  a  heart  and  the  hope  of  fame,  among 
the  culls  of  the  stall.  But  this  is  a  sign,  not  that 
such  verse,  which  has  its  own  home  charm,  should 
not  reach  print,  but  proof  rather  that  it  should 
keep  in  print  fo  the  silent  and  sequestered  path 
where  only  friends  can  greet  its  page. 
In  this  spirit,  and  to  this  end,  the  verse  which 
succeeds  has  been  given  the  form  in  which  it 


A   FORE-WORD  AND  FOREWORD.  5 

appears,  to  satisfy  and  gratify  the  dear  desire  of 
friends.  To  them,  this  rede  of  love  tells  of  a 
life  dear  in  all  its  relations,  the  dearer  for  what 
is  said  and  what  is  left  unsaid  in  these  pages. 
The  best  of  each  heart  is  never  said,  and  has  its 
own  hid,  still  voice.  But  it  is  well  when  a 
life  has  left  the  print  of  love  on  every  heart  its 
hand  has  touched,  that  its  utterances  should  be 
set  forth,  so  love  may  know  what  love  has  said. 
To  love,  this  verse  will  be  plain.  To  those  with 
out  the  circle  of  this  life's  love,  these  loves  of  its 
life  neither  challenge  criticism  nor  ask  for  atten 
tion.  They  tell  in  the  common  speech  of  verse 
the  daily  love  and  life  and  thought  which  well 
in  a  life  led  in  the  happy  activity  of  an  American 
woman,  wife,  mother,  friend,  Christian,  and 
citizen.  Each  of  these  relations  has  its  duty,  and 
the  fit  hour  of  each  duty  strikes  its  lyric  note  in 
every  heart,  some  silent,  some  speaking,  as  does 


A  FORE-WORD  AND  FOR- WORD. 

this  verse,  to  a  special  circle,  and  some,  now 
and  then  one  in  a  century,  to  the  world.  In  the 
just  weight  of  worth,  the  last  does  not  still  the 
second.  One 

Sings  to  the  wide  world,  and  she  to  her  nest; 
In  the  nice  ear  of  Nature  which  song  is  the  best  ? 


TALCOTT  WILLIAMS. 


PHILADELPHIA, 

September  the  Seventh,  189$. 


A   TABLE   OF   THE   CONTENTS   OF 
LOVE-BOUND 

"LOVE-BOUND,"   II 

TO   MY   LOVE,    14 

THE  OFFICE,    l6 

LOVE'S  DREAM,    I? 

BONDAGE,    2O 

COUNT  THE  WEEKS   BY  SUNDAYS,   23 

SUNSHINE  ON   THE   CHAMBER   CEILING,   27 

SUMMER   CLOUDS,    JO 

SNOW-FLAKES,   3! 

THE   SONG  OF  THE  OCEAN,   34 

ANSWER  TO   H.   H.'S  QUESTION,   38 

THE   ENGADINE  VILLAGES,   41 

SMOKE   OF  THE  CITY,   42 

THE  THUNDER,   44 

AUTUMN,   45 

NOVEMBER,  46 

TO-MORROW,  47 

PICTURES,  49 

THE  OCEAN'S  LULLABY,  51 

SUNRISE  ON  LAKE  SUPERIOR,  53 

THE  NIGHT  WINDS,  $5 

STORM  IN  CALIFORNIA,  58 

SNOW-STORM,  6l 

SEA-SHELLS,   63 

OHO!    YE   WINDS,   65 

MOTHERHOOD,  69 

THE   FIRST    BABY,   72 

HELEN,   74 

CHILDHOOD  PASSING,   79 

INTO  YOUTH,  8 1 

"TO   A  YOUNG  CHILD,"  83 

BUT   TWENTY-THREE,   85 

FRIENDSHIP,   87 

REVERIES,   88 

SAVED,    89 

REMEMBRANCE,   92 

DREAMS,   94 

A   FRAGMENT,   95 

1776-1876,  99 

JAMES  A.   GARFIELD,   102 


NUREMBERG'S  GABLES,  105 

IN    MEMORIAM,    Io8 

TO  WHITTIER,  IIO 

FAIR  DRYBURGH  ABBEY,  112 

COURAGE  BY  THE  WAY,  121 

GOD'S  WILL,  123 

THE  BODY'S  REST,  127 

UNREST,    129 

CALL   FOR   HELP,    130 

CLING   NOT  TO  THE   PAST,    1$2 

QUESTIONINGS,    134 

IN   THE   END,    136 

SHIELDING,    138 

SHADOWS,    140 

"REST  FOR  THE  WEARY,"  142 

EASTER  BELLS,  143 

LIGHT  AHEAD,  145 

GUIDANCE,  147 

TO  MY  MOTHER,  149 

A  FAREWELL,  15! 

INTO  THE  SILENCE,  154 

WITHERED  LEAVES,  157 

CHRISTMAS'  AMEN,  158 

THE  DYING  YEAR,  159 

HOLIDAYS  OF  1873,  165 

A  VALENTINE,  169 

LITTLE  CHILDREN,  171 

AN  APRIL  DAY,  173 

BABY  ADALYN,  175 

BABY  BELLE  HINCHLIFF,  177 

KISSES,    179 

WATCHING    FOR    MAMMA,    l8o 

A  JINGLE,    l8l 

LAMBKIN,    l82 

THE   DIAMOND   NECKLACE,    l8j 

TO  THE   LINNET,    l86 

NATURE'S  UNDERTONES,  188 
THB  FUTURE,  1Q2 


Not  to  the  skillful  critic, 

Nor  to  the  public  throng, 
To  you  my  inmost  thoughts  I  bring,  — 

To  you  my  simple  lays  belong. 


"  LOVE-BOUND." 


'"pHE  shy  partridge  calls  to  his  loved  mate, 
"  More  wet," 

The  nightingale  sings  in  the  fen, 
The  bobolink  carols  to  all  his  Wee  Babes, 

And  sweet  is  the  song  of  the  wren. 


The  kine  in  the  meadow,  the  sheep  in  the  fold ; 

The  chanticleer's  voice  on  the  wind ; 
From  each  to  the  other  sweet  music  we  hear, 

"  Oh,  Love-bound  are  we  to  our  kind." 

The  clapping  of  leaves  will  express  their  mute  joy, 
So  airily  waving  in  ease, 


1 2  "LO  VE-BOUND." 

And  from  the   dense   forests,   oh,  "  Love-bound," 

"  Love-bound," 
Comes  floating  along  on  the  breeze. 

The  stars  in  their  courses,  the  waves  of  the  sea, 

All  join  in  the  chorus,  Love-bound. 
Sweet  lily-bells  scatter  their  perfume  afar, 

And  pansies  the  glad  notes  resound. 

The  child's  merry  laughter 's  a  ripple  of  glee ; 

A  necklace  of  pearls  are  its  tears, 
As  Love-bound  through   all   the    sweet  joys  of  its 
life 

And  Love-bound  through  all  of  its  fears. 

The  unwritten  music  of  Nature  in  song 

A  love-note  for  lovers  to  hear, 
So  sweetly  it  sings  from  the  heart  to  the  heart, 

"  If  Love-bound,  you  Ve  nothing  to  fear. " 


"Z  0  VE-BO  UND."  * 3 

But  treasured  for  aye  in  the  depths  of  the  soul, 

A  great  wealth  of  love.     We  agree, 
More  strong  bound  are  they,  who  most  truly  are 
free. 

My  Lover,  I  'm  Love-bound  to  thee. 

OAKLAND,  1875. 


TO   MY   LOVE. 

MAY  3d,  1874. 

love  loves  me,  and  I  love  him  ; 

Our  lives  in  unison  we  trim, 
To  joy  or  sorrow,  weal  or  woe, 
As  onward  through  life's  path  we  go. 

We  note  the  birthdays,  not  aghast ; 
Each  finds  us  older  than  the  last 
Only  in  name  :  our  hearts  keep  young ; 
The  notes  of  age  ^e  leave  unsung. 

Count  not  the  years,  so  swift  they  fly, 
They  drop,  as  withered  leaves,  to  die  ; 
Their  purpose  having  served  for  all, 
'  T  were  well  they  like  the  leaves  should  fall ; 


TO  MY  LOVE.  15 

But  by  our  love  to  count  the  years, 
Much  stronger,  then,  life's  work  appears ; 
By  higher  aims,  expanding  thought, 
And  deeds  not  in  our  own  strength  wrought. 

Ah  !  tell  me  not  you  're  forty-four ; 
Across  the  threshold,  through  the  door, 
I  see  thy  youth  in  manhood's  hour, 
Crowning  thy  life  with  greater  power. 

Still  keener  grows  the  mind  with  years ; 
Thy  soul  no  question  asks  of  fears ; 
The  vision,  with  its  longer  range, 
Will  grasp  still  greater  truths  and  strange. 

Then  tell  me  not  you  're  forty-four, 
For  I  will  know  almost  a  score 
Of  years  has  borne  us  on  the  wing, 
Since  first  our  plighted  troth  did  sing. 


THE  OFFICE. 

T1TITHIN  your  office  walls, 

A  nameless  rest,  of  quiet  and  repose, 

Broods  like  a  spirit  great. 
A  living,  loving,  human  tenderness, 

Within  your  breast  finds  vent, 
And  wafts  its  fragrance,  on  the  air  you  breathe, 

To  all  humanity, 
And  thus  distils  a  sweeter  perfume's  dawn, 

Than  upturned  violets, 
Kissed  daily  with  the  dews  of  early  morn. 


LOVE'S  DREAM. 

,  give  me  your  dream,  Love, 
Your  love  dream  of  me, 
With  thought  drifting  far 
To  my  rest  by  the  sea, 
As,  wrapt  in  the  arms  of  the  night, 

You  feel  on  your  cheek 
The  sweet  breath  of  a  rose, 
Entwining  your  heart 
In  its  soft  velvet  close ; 
Believing  you  're  roaming  the  wide  world  with 

me, 
Are  roaming  the  wide  world  with  me. 


1 8  LOVE'S  DREAM. 

Oh,  give  me  your  dream,  Love ; 

A  vision  it  grows 
To  charming  white  lilies, 

So  unlike  the  rose. 
Look  into  their  beautiful  depths, 

For  over  your  senses 
A  fragrance  is  thrown, 

Surpassing  the  perfume 

Of  flowers  unknown, 

Enfolding  your  heart  in  its  fancies  so  free, 
Your  heart  in  its  fancies  so  free. 

But  in  the  gray  dawning, 

As  o'er  you  may  hover 
The  phantom-like  presence 

Of  me,  your  "  One-Lover," 
The  rustling  of  nature's  wakening 

Will  scatter  the  shadowy 

Forms  of  your  dreams, 


LOVE'S  DREAM.  19 

Possessing  the  spirit 

In  raptures  supreme, 
Like  some  unseen  things,  they  will  fly  on  their 

wings, 
Away  they  will  fly  on  their  wings. 

O'er  crag  and  o'er  hillside, 

And  far  down  the  glen 
Through  thicket  and  forest, 

Through  river  and  fen, 
You  come  to  a  beautiful  lake : 
You  dream  it  is  fleeing; 
To  catch  it  you  spring, 
Swift  as  antelopes  fly 
Too  late,  too  late  —  it  wings. 
You  are  awake,  and  yet  more  of  joy  will  it  bring, 
For  in  memory  to  it  you  cling. 


BONDAGE. 

HPHERE  are  great  degrees  of  bondage 

Caused  by  life's  surging  tide ; 
Very  many  are  the  fancies 

Which  in  the  soul  abide, 
And  yield  a  subtle  influence 

That  love  is  sure  to  gain 
Sooner  or  later  o'er  the  hearts 

Of  all  mankind  in  twain. 
For  Cupid  hurls  his  fiery  darts, 

And  dances  with  delight 
At  the  sure  havoc  that  attends 

His  arrows  in  their  flight. 
Up  to  some  lonely  cabin  door 

On  mountain  side  he  rides, 
From  his  quiver  draws  his  arrow, 

From  bow  it  quickly  glides. 


BONDAGE.  21 

Bound  hand  and  foot  the  maiden  cries, 

Nor  knows  from  whence  her  thraldom  comes. 

She  feels  the  magnet  in  his  eyes, 

She  fears  the  force  that  from  him  flies, 

And  yet  she  yields  in  great  dismay 

Her  own  sweet  will  to  his  own  way. 

Each  moment  as  a  flash  of  light, 
Each  fleeting  hour  a  twinkling  star, 
Kindling  for  aye  life's  darkest  night 
With  all  that 's  good  if  used  aright ; 
Crowning  the  future  of  her  life 
With  all  that 's  precious  to  a  wife. 

Oh,  how  sweet  the  wifely  pledge  of  love  ! 

How  holy !  how  divine  ! 
As  it  draws  its  nature  from  above, 

It  will  both  hearts  entwine. 
But  to  love,  and  then  to  part !     Well  nigh 

The  fountains  of  the  heart 


22  BONDAGE. 

Will  burst  in  twain,  as  friends  must  die, 

And  from  our  lives  depart. 
From  such  deep  grief  while  here  we  dwell, 

Oh,  is  there  no  surcease  ? 
And  must  our  hearts  with  sorrow  swell, 

Till  death  shall  bring  release  ? 

Nay  !  nay  !  my  soul,  when  loved  ones  die, 

Such  grief  should  not  be  ours. 
Love  never  from  our  lives  departs ; 

It  fills  life's  truest  hours 
With  deeper  joys  than  words  express,  — 

It  dwells  with  us,  indeed, 
A  chastened  power,  more  truly  felt 

In  all  our  daily  need. 
Then  live  your  life  with  courage,  soul, 

Know  that  from  hidden  streams 
Of  God's  eternal  presence  given, 

The  greatest  good  still  gleams. 


COUNT  THE  WEEKS   BY  SUNDAYS. 

/'""CUNT  not  the  days  of  absence, 
Vw^ 

As  they  go  dragging  on, 

So  wearily  the  moments  pass, 
When  those  we  love  are  gone. 

But  count  the  time  by  Sundays, 

More  swiftly  will  it  fly ; 
Of  all  the  many  weeks  from  home, 

Four  Sabbaths  have  gone  by. 

Count  not  the  days  of  absence, 

One  day  —  one  day  agone ; 
Count  by  the  fleeting  Sabbaths  : 

A  week  will  then  have  flown. 


rj  ^HERE  are  murmuring  brooks, 

Traversing  life  through  shady  nooks, 
Where  never  a  ray  of  the  sun  peers  through, 
To  gladden  the  sound  with  its  cheerful  hue. 
There  are  gladsome  rivulets  scattered  round, 
Kissing  and  washing  the  pebbly  ground, 
Over  which  they  flow  with  such  merry  glee, 
Thoughts  of  grief  from  the  listeners  flee. 


SUNSHINE   ON  THE   CHAMBER  CEILING. 
/CREEPING  into  our  houses, 

V^x 

Through  the  window-pane, 
Slanting  through  the  blinds  ajar, 
Sunlight  gleams  again. 

Sparkling  in  its  liquid  light, 

In  flows  the  morning, 
Filling  full  our  sleeping-rooms 

With  the  gay  dawning. 

Watch  the  rays  so  swift  they  glide, 

With  their  stencil  train, 
Tracing,  with  an  artist's  hand, 

Pictures  that  enchain. 


28     SUNSHINE  ON  THE  CHAMBER  CEILING. 

Now  they  're  sketching  maple  boughs, 

Swaying  to  and  fro ; 
Out  and  in,  among  the  trees, 

Birds  are  singing  low. 

Look !  our  neighbor's  chimney-top, 

One  can  there  define, 
Quite  an  ancient  castle  tower, 

From  the  sunny  Rhine. 

Onward,  through  the  Gothic  blinds, 

Comes  a  vessel  sailing, 
Prow  and  stern  and  mizzen-mast 

Frescoing  the  ceiling. 

See  the  proudly  sailing  craft ; 

Swings  the  sun  around ; 
One  can  see  the  billows  heave, 

With  her  every  bound. 


SUNSHINE   ON  THE   CHAMBER   CEILING.     29 

Look !  a  cloud  is  passing  now ; 

Watch  it  rise  and  fall, 
O'er  our  pretty  landscape  fair, 

Like  a  sable  pall. 

Pictures  of  the  sunshine, 
You  have  chased  our  dreams 

From  off  our  sleepy  couches, 
By  your  golden  beams. 


SUMMER  CLOUDS. 

OOFT  fleecy  clouds  dot  the  sky  here  and  there, 

Tripping  like  fairies,  through  the  summer  air ; 
Swiftly  they  move  across  the  azure  blue, 
Piling  o'er  each  other,  sunshine  peeping  through. 

Oh,  ye  snowy  mountain  peaks,  drifting  high, 
Castellated  pictures  making  in  the  sky, 
Whence  do  you  come,  and  whither  do  you  go  ? 
Tell  me,  snowy,  fleecy  clouds,  floating  low  ? 


SNOW-FLAKES. 

QH,  watch  the  tiny  snow-flakes, 
Falling,  falling  thro'  the  air, 
The  many  million  snow-flakes, 
With  upturned  faces  fair. 

How  they  jostle  one  another, 
Career  and  tumble  all  around, 

O'er  and  o'er  each  other  falling, 
Till  they  cover  all  the  ground. 

See  the  children's  happy  faces, 
Pressed  against  the  window-pane, 

Listening  to  the  muffled  music 
Of  the  snow-flakes  in  the  lane. 


$2  SNOW-FLAKES. 

Higher,  higher,  frozen  raindrops, 
Spreading  out  in  feathery  foam, 

Piles  a  fairy,  glistening  blanket 
Over  all  so  close  and  warm. 

But  we  older  ones  are  thinking, 
Of  the  million  stifling  cares, 

Falling,  falling  all  around  us, 
Constant  burden  of  our  prayers. 

How  they  jostle  one  another, 
To  and  fro  the  whole  day  long, 

O'er  and  o'er  each  other  tumbling, 
Till  we  know  not  right  from  wrong ; 

Till  our  hearts  grow  weary,  weary, 
And  the  living,  working  brain, 

Bending  'neath  the  growing  burden, 
Shrinks  from  life's  unrest  in  vain. 


SNOW-FLAKES.  33 

But,  as  'neath  the  piling  snow-flakes, 

Every  germ  of  Nature  lies 
Dormant,  restful,  till  the  Springtime 

Calls  it  gladly  to  arise ; 

So  the  soul  in  heavenly  pureness, 
From  the  cares  of  life  shall  come, 

Singing  songs  of  resurrection, 
Winging  upward  to  its  home. 

Jan,  23, 1876. 


THE   SONG  OF   THE   OCEAN. 

HPHE  song  of  the  ocean  is  merry  or  sad, 

As  hearts  of  its  hearers  are  weary  or  glad ; 
But  all  the  night  through  and  for  all  the  day  long 
It  breathes  the  same  cadence,  it   sings   the   same 
song. 

"  Roll  on,  my  deep  blue  waves,  roll  on, 
And  break  your  crests  yon  shore  upon  • 
Your  mates  shall  follow  in  your  wake. 
Roll  on,  my  deep  blue  waves,  and  break." 

To  children,  it 's  sweet  as  the  songs  of  the  dove ; 
To  maiden,  it  is  always  singing  of  love  ; 
To  manhood,  whose  spirit  is  full  of  desire, 
The  ocean  has  power  his  soul  to  inspire. 


THE  SONG   OF  7'HE  OCEAN.  35 

"  Roll  on,  my  restless  waves,  roll  on, 
And  break  your  crests  yon  shore  ttpon  ; 
Your  mates  shall  follow  in  your  wake. 
Roll  on,  my  restless  waves,  and  break." 

The  song  of  the  ocean  is  more  importune, 

When  storm  winds  are  howling  then-  deep  notes  in 

June, 
When  lightnings  flash  bright,  and   the  loud  thunder 

raves, 

And  great  waters  surge  from  their  innermost  caves*. 
"  Roll  on,  my  heaving  waves,  roll  on, 
And  break  your  crests  yon  shore  upon  ; 
Your  mates  shall  follow  in  your  wake. 
Roll  on,  my  heaving  waves,  and  break" 

The  waves  that  are  raging,  no  longer  will  take 
To  far-distant  beaches  their  white  caps  to  break, 


36  THE  SONG   OF   THE   OCEAN. 

But  high  over  mountains  of  billowy  foam, 
Away  in  mid-ocean,  they  '11  dash  to  their  home. 

"  Roll  on,  my  stormy  waves,  roll  on, 
And  break  your  crests  yon  shore  upon  ; 
Your  mates  shall  follow  in  your  wake. 
Jloll  on,  my  stormy  waves,  and  break" 

The  song  of  the  ocean  is  full  of  despair ; 
Deep  meanings  it  utters  upon  the  night  air,  — 
Such  meanings,  oh,  what  are  the  thoughts  that  they 

stir, 
What  depths  do  they  rouse,  in  my  soul's  lethargy  ! 

"  Roll  on,  my  dusky  waves,  roll  on, 
And  break  your  crests  yon  shore  upon  ; 
Your  mates  shall  follow  in  your  wake. 
Roll  on,  my  dusky  waves,  and  break." 

Like  yonder  waves  dashing,  they  rush  o'er  my  brain, 
And  fill  me  with  courage  their  truth  to  attain ; 


THE  SONG  OF  THE   OCEAN.  37 

They  roll  back  the  trammels  from  off  of  the  soul ; 
The  spirit  grows  stronger  its  life  to  control. 

Then  thought  surge  on,  forever  surge, 

The  heart  from  all  of  evil  purge, 

As  pure  and  white  as  ocean  shore 

Is  washed  by  waves  forevermore. 


TO   H.  H.'S  QUESTION,  "WHICH  WAY 
WENT   SUMMER?" 

T   1ST  !  the  voice  of  the  Red-Rose  : 

"  These  flowers  must  decay, 
For  north  winds  are  blowing 

Their  petals  away ; 
But  warm  is  my  heart  in  the 

Cherishing  ground, 
And  summer  is  with  me,  far 

Under  the  mound. 
Again  to  your  world  we  will 

Come  by  and  by ; 
New  roses  will  bloom  to  me, 

Death  to  belie. 
Oh,  life  of  my  life,  and  sweet 

Breath  of  my  breath, 


TO  H.  H^S  QUESTION.  39 

Together  we  flee  winter's 
Semblance  of  death." 

But  what  saith  the  Honey-Bee  : 

"  Frozen  ?     Nay  !  nay ! 
In  cosey  cells  dormant  with 

Summer  I  stay ; 
Together  we  're  nestling  the 

Whole  winter  through, 
Renewing  our  strength  and  our 

Beauty  for  you, 
Where  violets,  mayflowers,  and 

Even  the  clover, 
In  sweet-scented  perfumes,  all 

Over  us  hover. 
We  're  resting  and  dreaming 

Of  gladness,  of  spring, 
When,  friend,  to  your  world  again 

Summer  we  '11  bring." 


40  TO  H.  H.'S  QUESTION. 

And  nestled  beneath  the  soft 

Wings  of  the  Bird, 
The  chirpings  of  summer 

May  always  be  heard  : 
"  Though  winter  shall  drive  us 

Afar  from  the  north, 
She  cannot  compel  us  to 

Stifle  our  mirth ; 
But  sweeter  than  ever  the 

Songs  and  the  flowers 
When  the  birds  and  the  summer 

Return  to  these  bowers." 
Thus  answered  the  Song- Bird, 

The  Blossom,  the  Bee, 
"  I  keep  the  bright  summer 

Forever  with  me." 


THE   ENGADINE  VILLAGES. 

''THE  Engadine  !    Beautiful  Engadine  ! 

Many  of  Switzerland's  most  treasured  peaks, 

Standing  around  thy  villages,  still  keep 
A  watch  over  thy  lakes  and  river  Inn  ; 
Their  lofty  heads,  covered  with  snow,  are  seen 

Glistening  in  sunlight,  or  in  clouds  asleep  ; 

And,  like  a  Gordian  knot  tied  fast,  bespeak 
The  full  protection  of  their  stately  mien. 

Piz-Languard,  monarch  of  the  chain,  a  seer : 
"  Oh,  Engadine,  nothing  shall  enter  here 

To  mar  the  beauty  of  thy  hidden  grace  ; 
These  mountain  homes,  to  us  so  very  dear, 
These  homes  of  honest  folk  of  sturdy  race, 
Most  tenderly  we  hold  in  strong  embrace." 

ST.  MORITZ, 

August,  1885. 


SMOKE   OF  THE   CITY. 

TTAVE  you  ever  watched  a  city, 

In  the  early  morn, 
And  seen  the  smoke  go  circling  up 
To  catch  the  early  dawn? 

Higher,  higher,  watched  it  rising, 

Floating  to  the  skies, 
Lost  in  yonder  atmosphere,  go 

From  your  wondering  eyes  ? 

Have  you  listened  for  the  carols, 

Song-birds  flying  there, 
Thought  within  those  vapory  clouds 

Are  angels'  dwellings  fair? 


SMOKE   OF  THE   CITY.  43 

Looked  on  palace,  mill,  and  hamlet, 

Watched  it  rise  and  fall, 
Till  wakened  from  your  revery 

By  the  breakfast  call? 

Then  you  do  not  know  the  pleasure 

Of  chambers  in  your  house, 
Which  overlook  the  city  homes 

From  windows  east  and  south. 


THE  THUNDER. 

/"~\H,  hark  !  in  the  distance 

Comes  crashing  and  rumbling 

The  thunder ; 
It  bids  me  take  warning. 
You  are  not  in  earnest, 

Artillery  ? 

For  see,  the  bright  sunshine 
Belies  your  prediction 

Of  rain. 

But  still  you  are  talking ; 
Your  roaring  around  me, 

Oh,  thunder 
Disturbs  meditation, 
And  bids  me  take  warning. 


AUTUMN. 

TVyTY  chamber  resembles 

Arcadian  bowers, 
With  its  long  trailing  vines 

And  autumnal  flowers. 
But  the  bright  glowing  coals, 

In  the  blackened  grate, 
Are  laughing  at  beauty 

For  blooming  so  late. 


NOVEMBER. 

J.T  IE  thee,  bleak  and  dull  November  ! 

Thou  art  too  rude  for  song ; 
Such  piercing  wails  of  wind  and  rain 
Create  a  sense  of  wrong. 

For  song  of  birds  I  list  in  vain, 

For  humming  of  the  bee  ; 
Instead,  thou  meanest  piteously, 

Afar  o'er  land  and  sea. 

As  wilder  blows  the  north  wind's  wrath, 

The  little  laughing  rill 
Gives  up  its  ripple  to  the  frost, 

And  lies  so  cold  and  still. 


NOVEMBER.  47 

Rivers  are  wrapped  in  winding-sheets, 

The  lakes  are  frozen  fast, 
When  deeper  grow  thy  mutterings, 

When  wilder  blows  the  blast. 

Thus  Mother  Earth  reluctant  yields 

Her  heart  to  thy  embrace, 
And  daily  sees  the  life  depart 

Of  beauty  from  her  face. 

So  hie  thee,  chill  November,  hie ! 

Away  with  clouds  and  rain  ! 
Give  us  the  sparkling  feath'ry  flakes, 

Of  cold  December's  reign, 

To  shield  the  tender  germs  of  earth 

From  all  the  winds  that  blow, 
While  bringing  us  the  pleasures,  rare, 

Born  of  the  drifting  snow. 


TO-MORROW. 

HP  HERE  is  no  to-morrow ; 
Like  a  phantom  it  flies, 
On  the  wings  of  the  morning, 
From  our  longing  eyes. 

For  the  gray  dawn  is  stealing, 
While  in  slumber  we  rest, 

And  to-day  smiles  upon  us  ; 
It  endeth  our  quest. 


PICTURES. 
A    DARK,  sequestered  vale, 

r\ 

Where  whippoorwills,  and  larks,  and 

robins  gay 

Play  hide-go-seek  whene'er  the  branches  sway ; 
Music  of  little  brooks,  trickling  anew 
Through  latticed  fern  leaves,  wet  with  morning  dew. 

Bright  visions  to  the  eye, 
Of  green  fields,  waving  with  the  summer  grain ; 
Of  herds,  now  lowing  in  the  meadow  lane. 
Far  off  the  gently  flowing  river  winds, 
As  here  and  there  its  level  bed  it  finds. 

A  sandy,  rolling  beach 

Basks  in  the  sunshine  when  old  Ocean  sleeps, 
Then  when  the  tide  comes  creeping  from  the  deeps, 

4 


50  PICTURES. 

Unlike  the  rushing  tides  of  life,  we  find 
A  dreamy  listlessness  steals  o'er  the  mind. 

A  pebbly,  glistening  beach, 
Washed  by  the  surging,  mighty,  roaring  waves, 
Breaking  their  snowy  crests,  as  o'er  it  raves 
The  foaming  cataract  of  the  stormy  sea, 
Lashed  by  the  furious  winds  from  o'er  the  lea. 

A  cloudy,  threatening  sky  ; 
The  thunders  roar  and  through  the  valleys  crash, 
Echoing  afar  :  —  the  lightning's  vivid  flash 
Reveals  the  sky,  leaden  with  rain  and  mist, 
Flooding  mountain  heights  with  lights  of  amethyst. 

Bold,  rocky  cliffs  stand  forth, 

Their  sides  adorned  with  hemlock,  spruce,  and  vine, 
Waving  their  topmost  boughs,  to  rhythmic  line 
Of  plunging  waterfalls,  anear  their  feet : 
Thus  do  the  wildest  scenes  in  nature  meet. 


THE  OCEAN'S  LULLABY. 

OCR  me 
To  sleep,  waves, 
And  over  me  roll 
The  tenderest  music  from  out  of  your  soul. 

Rock  me 
To  sleep,  waves, 
And  over  me  keep 
The  strictest  of  vigils,  the  while  that  I  sleep. 

Keep  me 
Asleep,  waves, 
While  nature  shall  rest 
This  brain  that  is  weary  upon  your  great  breast. 


52  THE   OCEAN'S  LULLABY. 

Keep  me 
Asleep,  waves, 
And  over  me  weep 
The  tears  of  your  raindrops,  at  times  while  I  sleep. 

Wake  me 

From  sleep,  waves, 
And  let  my  soul  hear 
The  song  of  the  ocean  when  storm-clouds  appear. 

Wake  me 

Prom  sleep,  waves ; 
Its  music  will  keep 
My  heart  full  of  courage,  life's  harvest  to  reap. 

1894.    By  the  sea. 


SUNRISE  ON   LAKE   SUPERIOR. 

'  I  "HE  rosy  tints  that  lie  along 

The  eastern  shore  at  break  of  dawn 
Are  brighter  than  the  maiden's  blush, 
And  deeper  than  the  evening's  flush. 

A  moment,  and  they  mount,  they  fly 
Across  the  azure  of  the  sky, 
Dispersing  from  the  night  the  shades. 
Glorious  light  the  earth  pervades, 

With  songs  of  welcome,  from  the  lips 
Of  roses  red,  from  lily  tips  ; 
From  insects,  beasts,  and  birds  that  sing, 
To  make  the  morning  welkin  ring ; 


54  SUNRISE   ON  LAKE  SUPERIOR. 

From  rolling,  rippling,  sparkling  waves, 
As  sunshine  with  its  glory  laves ; 
From  glistening  shafts  of  pearly  beams, 
Piercing  beneath  the  mountain  streams. 

All  human  voices,  tuned  to  praise, 
Should  listen  to  this  call,  and  raise 
Their  heartfelt  thanks  to  make  replete 
The  welcome  to  the  day  complete. 

Oh,  rich  indeed  the  sun's  foresight, 
To  herald  thus  the  day  aright, 
Waking  to  life  the  heart  of  earth, 
Making  each  morning  a  new  birth. 

STEAMER  PEERLESS,  Aug.  13,  1872. 


THE   NIGHT  WINDS. 

HPHE  night  winds ! 

What  are  they  saying, 
Twisting  the  branches  from  off  the  trees, 

Knocking  the  bricks 

From  the  chimneys? 
Oh,  will  nothing  their  voices  appease  ? 

Not  to  all  the  same 

Tale  they  are  telling ; 
It  depends  on  the  listener's  ear : 

To  some  wailing 

And  dire  destruction ; 
But  to  others  they  breathe  of  good  cheer. 


$6  THE  NIGHT  WINDS. 

Some,  in  dreaming, 

Think  they  are  zephyrs, 
Sighing  so  sweetly,  floating  in  air ; 

Some  feel  the  tread 

Of  the  Storm  King, 
As  he  marches  from  out  of  his  lair. 

Listen,  as  he 

Gathers  his  forces, 
And  encircles  some  poor  stricken  sail ; 

Over  the  waves 

Tossing  his  victim, 
When  caught  in  a  "  midsummer-night's  "  gale. 

Thus  to  travel 

With  eager  swiftness, 
To  be  borne  on  the  wings  of  the  wind, 

What  freedom, 

What  wonder,  delight, 
Oh,  what  pleasure  we  mortals  could  find ! 


THE  NIGHT  WINDS.  57 

Comes  the  morning, 

Night  winds  are  dying 
And  decreasing  as  shades  fly  away ; 

Round  the  corners, 

Soft  winds  whispering, 
A  good-morning  to  all,  and  good-day. 


STORM   IN  CALIFORNIA. 


O  O  wild  the  storm  to-night  ! 

Whence  comes  such  unutterable  grief  ? 

Borne  on  the  breath  of  this 
Tempestuous  sea  of  wind  and  rain, 
A  spirit's  moaning  piteously. 
A  passionate  gush  of  weeping 
Comes  against  the  window-pane  ; 
Then  a  louder,  wilder  wailing 
Is  heard  above  the  gale. 
Whence  comest  thou  ?     O  spirit, 
What  is  thy  thought  to  night  ? 
Tell  us  thy  purpose  and  thy  aim  ; 
Why  weepest  thou  against  the  pane  ? 


STORM  IN  CALIFORNIA.  59 

Against  the  earth,  and  sea,  and  air, 

Against  our  hearts,  so  full  of  care, 

Against  all  laughter,  joy,  and  mirth, 

To  which  thy  happier  hours  gave  birth. 

Are  thy  tears  so  unavailing? 

Hast  thou  no  power  to  save 

The  sinking  ones  upon  the  deep? 

No  power  to  help  the  struggling 

Or  suffering  ones  of  earth  ? 

No  power  to  shield  the  homeless  waif, 

Nor  protection  to  vouchsafe  ? 

Whence  comest  thou  ?     Oh,  spirit, 

Wild,  wild,  thy  voice  to-night ; 

Whence  comest  thou  ?     Oh,  tell  us, 

Or  we  perish  by  thy  might ! 

But  the  darkness  gathered  blackness, 

At  the  moaning  and  the  crying 

Of  the  raging  storm. 

Our  minds  were  filled  with  terror, 


60  STORM  IN  CALIFORNIA 

At  the  wild  winds'  deep  implore  ; 
We  shuddered  as  we  listened, 
And  the  rattling  casements  drear 
Filled  our  hearts  with  inward  fear, 
When  nearer  came  a  furious  blast, 
Of  the  tempest  rushing  past. 

A  lull !  we  feel  our  hearts  cease  beating  : 

In  the  stillness  ; 
We  hear  the  eucalyptus-trees 
Shaking  out  their  willow  leaves ; 
And  in  the  distance,  sobbing,  sobbing  out  its  pain, 
Wings  the  storm  departing, 
With  its  trailing  garments,  heavy  with  the  rain, 
Weighted  with  the  burden  of  its  prayers, 
The  ceaseless,  moaning  burden  of  its  prayers. 


SNOW-STORM. 

HPHE  day  is  dull ;  the  air  is  chill ; 

A  leaden  hue  o'ershadows  the  sill 
Of  the  great  blue  dome  we  call  the  sky, 
And  veils  the  bright  sunshine  from  our  eye. 

The  morning  wanes ;  a  feathery  flake 
Comes  floating  from  the  darkening  lake, 
That  hangs  overhead  ;  its  waters  bear 
Rare  liquid  gems,  in  the  freezing  air. 

Faster,  faster  the  snow-flakes  fall ; 

The  air  is  gay  as  a  fairies'  ball. 

Come  one,  come  all,  a  numberless  throng, 

Now  dancing,  waltzing,  skipping  along. 


62  SWO  W-STORM. 

Flake  follows  flake  with  merry  glee, 
Rousing  the  notes  of  chick-a-dee-dee  ; 
Jostling  each  other  in  swift  descent, 
The  force  of  the  storm  is  soon  o'erspent. 

So  beautiful  the  world  to-night 
Enfolded  warm  in  her  ermine  white ; 
So  quiet  lies  the  new-fallen  snow 
Over  the  face  of  the  earth  below. 


SEA-SHELLS. 

T)  EAUTIFUL  shells,  whisper  to  me,  from  the  depths 

Of  the  deep  blue  sea ; 
The  sweet  stories  of  old,  which  fairies  have  told, 

Oh,  tell  them  to  me  ! 
Pearl  nautilus  shell,  with  your  two  dainty  sails, 

And  floating  so  true, 
Your  bark  is  so  frail,  will  it  weather  the  gales, 

With  its  tiny  crew? 

And  you,  rainbow  shells,  which  for  ages  have  slept 

In  deep  hidden  caves, 
Save  when  on  curious  errands  bent,  you  Ve  crept 

Above  the  dark  waves ; 
Pretty  snails,  measuring  your  length  among  the  reeds 

Along  the  far  shore, 


64  SEA-SHELLS. 

Oh,  what  can  you  tell,  of  the  old  Ocean's  deeds, 
Of  interest  more  ? 

For  daintiest  texture  and  beauty  of  mould, 

Can  nothing  compare 
That 's  grown  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean's  fold 

With  corals,  so  fair. 
Oh,  tell  of  your  strange  weird  life,  ye  tiny  shells, 

How  surely  you  grow 
Into  flowers  and  endless  forms,  from  living  cells, 

By  the  waves'  overflow. 


OHO!  YE   WINDS. 

/^\HO  !  ye  winds,  from  out  your  hidden  caves, 

What  list  ye?  what  the  story  you  would  tell? 
How,  o'er  the  foaming  sea,  you  've  thrown  a  spell, 

And  tossed  high  over  rocks  the  stormy  waves  ? 

With  ceaseless  energy  their  surface  raves, 
Until  the  voices  of  the  deep,  a  knell 
Forever  sounding  on  their  courses,  quell 

The  murm 'rings  of  the  sea,  in  watery  graves. 

Oho  !  ye  winds,  these  are  the  thoughts  ye  bring: 
Our  purpose  strong,  whate'er  our  work  to  do ; 

Though  ghosts  of  deeds  forgot,  forever  ring 
Their  strains  into  our  ears,  we  will  not  rue 

The  past,  but  onward  press,  with  courage  sing, 
Our  will  is  strong  our  life's  work  well  to  do. 


A  FRAIL  bark  loosed  from  its  moorings 

Floated  out  on  the  river  of  time  ; 
Freighted  with  human  life,  she  bore 
This  precious  child  of  mine. 


MOTHERHOOD. 

T)  ABY  is  coming ! 

The  young  mother's  days 
Overflow  with  a  world  of  delight ; 
For  baby  is  coming  ! 
A  bit  of  self  coming  ! 
From  whence  ?  and  for  what  ? 
The  strange,  the  new  thought, 
Takes  hold  of  the  young  mother's  heart. 

But  coming  from  whence  ? 
This  breath  of  new  life, 
That  is  stirring  my  being  to-night ; 
Tell  me,  coming  from  whence  ? 


70  MO  THERHO  OD. 

Sweetest  spirit,  from  whence 
Do  you  come,  changing 
The  whole  of  my  life 
To  motherhood,  born  of  the  wife  ? 


For  what  ?  do  you  know 

For  what,  baby  mine  ? 
Vital  germ,  clinging  close  to  my  heart, 

Only  this  do  7  know, 

Only  this  can  I  know, 

There  comes  to  my  life 

New  purpose  to  hold 
More  sacred  the  truths  of  my  soul. 

For  my  baby  *s  coming, 
My  own  baby 's  coming, 
Spark  divine,  to  this  bosom  of  mine. 
O  Father  !  such  longing  ! 


MOTHERHOOD.  71 

List,  list  to  my  longing, 
To  bear  and  to  rear, 
For  Thee,  Lord,  for  Thee, 
This  life  Thou  hast  trusted  to  me. 


THE  FIRST  BABY. 

/^\NLY  a  wee  little  bundle  in  white ; 

Only  a  baby-boy  born  in  the  night ; 
Only  a  lover  and  husband  ?     Ay,  more, 
Proudly  a  father  now  paces  the  floor. 

Closely  a  dear  mother  nestles  beside, 
Cooing  to  cunningest  baby,  her  pride, 
Strangely  to  realize  hopes  that  at  morn, 
Merely  seemed  fancies,  ere  baby  was  born. 

Gazing  in  silence,  the  father's  heart  thrills  ; 
This  life  from  his  life,  new  purpose  instils : 
Softly  the  mother  caresses  the  face ; 
Together  they  pray  for  wisdom  and  grace. 


THE  FIRST  BABY.  73 

"  Father  in  Heaven,  Thy  presence  we  crave ; 
Watch  o'er  his  pathway  from  cradle  to  grave ; 
Thy  left  arm  to  save,  Thy  right  hand  to  guide, 
Cherishing  Love,  do  Thou  always  abide." 


1889. 


HELEN. 

God  knows  best.  I  wrote  a  few  verses  on  the  death  of 
the  beautiful  Helen,  the  evening  her  tiny  feet  first  walked 
the  golden  streets,  but  failed  to  express  the  rare  vision  of  light, 
the  beauty  of  her  who  had  dwelt  among  us,  so  like  a  spirit. 
It  cannot  be  told ;  one  must  have  seen  Helen,  looked  into  the 
depths  of  her  beautiful  pensive  eyes,  touched  her  fairy  form, 
to  realize  what  it  must  be  to  be  an  angel. 

"  TTELEN,  Helen,  pet,  where  are  you?" 

On  the  evening  breeze  so  clear. 
"  I  am  here,"  sweet  Helen  answered ; 
"Here  am  I,  my  mamma  dear." 

"  Come,  my  Helen  dear,  I  want  you." 

"  I  don't  want  to ;  must  I,  why  ? 
I  am  playing  with  the  squirrels ; 

I  '11  come,  mamma,  by  and  by." 


HELEN.  75 

"  Helen,  Helen,  oh,  where  are  you  ?  " 
Breaking  hearts  are  calling  here ; 

But  the  same  pure  spirit  answers, 
"  I  am  near  you,  mamma  dear." 

"  Come,  our  Helen  dear,  we  want  you." 

Tender  is  the  sweet  reply : 
"  I  am  happy  now  with  Jesus ; 

You  '11  come,  mamma,  by  and  by." 


O<9  happy  are  days  in  the  springtime  of  life, 

The  glad  budding  springtime  of  youth, 
When  no  thought  of  the  morrow,  full  of  cares. 
Steals  away  the  sweet  promise  of  truth. 


CHILDHOOD   PASSING. 

TDAST,  all  past  is  sunny  childhood, 

Like  a  swiftly  flowing  stream, 
When  the  heart  is  full  of  sunshine, 
When  all  life  is  like  a  dream. 

When  the  slightest  wish  is  welcomed, 
Mother's  kiss  each  sorrow  healed, 

Then  the  birthdays  were  like  mile-stones, 
Standing  out  upon  life's  field. 

One  by  one  from  out  life's  quiver, 

Years  are  plucked  beyond  your  power ; 

Youth  is  fleeing  faster  from  you 
Than  your  childhood's  sunny  hour. 


80  CHILDHOOD  PASSING. 

Youth,  with  all  its  richer  treasure, 
Gathered  from  life's  hidden  springs, 

One  cannot  begin  to  fathom, 
All  the  wealth  of  soul  it  brings. 

Do  not,  though  so  often  worried 
By  the  thinking,  working  brain, 

Lose  the  trusting  faith  of  childhood, 
Lose  what  cannot  come  again. 


INTO  YOUTH. 

A/TY  daughter,  the  gray  day  is  breaking ; 

Among  the  tree-tops  thrills  the  dawning 
Of  the  coming  of  the  morning, 
Of  thy  youth. 

Mark  it  in  thy  shadow,  longer  grown, 
Longings  of  the  heart,  thou  wilt  not  own, 
Springing  from  seed  in  childhood  sown ; 
It  is  youth. 

Full  fifteen  years  have  fled  before  thee, 
Joyous  years  from  many  cares  so  free, 
Happy  years  so  full  of  merry  glee, 
Pass  into  youth ! 
6 


82  INTO    YOUTH. 

Do  not  backward  turn  the  wheels  of  time, 
Nor,  fairest  maid,  these  thoughts  of  thine ; 
Press  onward  to  life's  highest  prime, 
Through  thy  youth. 

Never  fear  thy  greatest  deeds  to  dare ; 
The  deepest  truths  thy  thoughts  will  share, 
If  spoken  the  most  earnest  prayer 
Of  thy  youth. 

No  feverish  heat  of  noonday's  sun 
Will  bring  the  goal  for  which  you  run, 
Unless  life's  work  has  been  well  done 
In  early  youth. 

For  in  the  morning's  calmer  hour, 
When  sweet  repose  lends  greater  power 
To  all  thy  work,  great  is  the  dower 
Of  well-lived  youth. 


"TO   A  YOUNG  CHILD." 
TRANSLATED  FROM  VICTOR  HUGO. 

,  child  !  in  thy  beautiful  infancy, 
Do  not  envy  our  riper  years 
When  the  heart,  oft  enslaved,  is  rebellious, 
And  our  laughter  more  sad  than  your  tears. 

Your  days,  at  once  careless  and  sweet,  you  forget ; 

They  all  pass  as  a  breath  on  the  air, 
As  a  voice  full  of  joy,  like  the  Halcyon's, 

Vanishing  over  the  sea  so  rare. 

Rejoice  in  the  morning,  joy  in  the  springing 
Of  childhood  ;  its  hours  are  the  flowers. 

Strip  not  their  petals  more  quickly  than  time ; 
Wreathe  the  one  to  the  other's  fair  hours. 


84  "TO  A    YOUNG  CHILD." 

The  years  let  them  come,  that  destiny  appoints  you ; 

The  regrets  and  false  friendships  unkind, 
Those  faults  without  hope,  which  pride  disavows, 

And  those  pleasures  which  sadden  the  mind. 

But  laugh  while  you  may,  ignore  destiny's  sway, 
Do  not  sadden  your  brow  full  of  grace  j 

Your  eye  full  of  azure,  child's  mirror  of  peace, 
Will  reflect  heaven's  soul  in  your  face. 


BUT  TWENTY-THREE. 

,  thou  fair  soul,  and  be  at  rest, 

We  would  not   bid   thee  stay,  though   hearts 

must  break. 

We  would  not  longer  keep  thee  here  in  life's 
Great  press  of  earnest  toil,  to  struggle  on. 
No  life  is  ended,  till,  for  good  or  ill, 
The  work  that 's  given  it  to  do  is  finished. 
And  with  thy  life's  great  end  so  well  attained, 
We  would  not  bid  thee  stay,  though  greater  seems 
Our  loss,  and  harder  still  to  bear,  each  day 
As  time  goes  on,  and  months  and  years  go  by, 
Without  thy  daily  presence  here  to  bide. 
Thou  hast  not  died  so  young  as  many  men, 
Whose  burdens  fall,  at  threescore  years  and  ten. 


86  B(JT  TWENTY-THREE. 


We  count  not  life  by  "  figures  on  a  dial," 
"  But  by  deeds  ;  "  and  every  moment  of  thy 
Well-spent  life,  thy  strong  and  vigorous  youth, 
Was  as  a  ling'ring  year  in  some  men's  lives. 

September  25,  1889. 


FRIENDSHIP. 

TS  friendship,  with  you,  a 

"  Midsummer  night's  dream," 
That  the  first  breath  of  winter 
Leaves  to  wither  ? 
Then  wait  ere  thou  pluck 
The  dead  flower  from  the  stalk, 
And  ask  in  the  silence, 
Wherein  lies  the  fault 
Of  this  fresh  young  love, 
Thus  to  wither? 


REVERIES. 

•pvREAMILY,  in  the  chambers  of  the  heart, 

The  fancies,  which  each  life  possesses,  dwell ; 

Oft  will  the  bidding  of  our  thoughts  compel 
The  memories  that  beckon,  and  hopes  that  start 
The  pulses  coursing,  to  at  once  depart. 

For  there  is  another  being,  a  kell, 

Living  so  keen  within  the  soul,  a  spell 
Is  wrought  upon  the  mind,  its  counterpart. 
My  soul !  sometime  this  dual  nature  twain 

Will  burst  the  bands  asunder  and  be  free, 
Will  recognize  new  powers  of  life  to  gain, 

Will  give  new  force,  that  all  our  senses  be 
More  keenly  strung  to  Nature's  sweetest  strain, 

And  we  at  one  will  be  with  our  feoffee. 

SQUIBNOCKET,  August,  1894. 


SAVED. 

O  HE  tore  the  roses  from  her  hair ; 

She  dashed  the  pale  pinks  'neath  her  feet ; 
She  cried,  "  And  I  will  stem  the  tide, 
The  earth  will  roam,  and  cross  the  sea, 
But  I  will  know  that  I  am  free. 
What  care  I  for  a  world  of  scorn  ? 
What  care  I  for  its  pomp  and  show? 
I  will  have  flowers  that  I  love  best, 
And  hide  then*  sweetness  in  my  breast." 

But  no  one  knew  how  great  the  pain 
With  which  her  spirit  prayed  again, 
"  Oh,  come,  my  mother,  back,"  she  cried, 
"  From  your  bright  home  beyond  the  tide, 


90  SA  VED. 

To  put  your  arms  about  my  neck ; 
Thus  can  your  love  my  troubles  check. 
You  know  what  life  is  here  and  there ; 
You  know  what  human  life  can  bear, 
And  knowing,  can  my  spirit  save, 
To  live  life's  mystery  to  the  grave." 

A  maid  both  brave  and  strong  was  she, 
For  in  God's  grace  her  soul  was  free, 
Though  born  to  drink  life's  bitterest  lees, 
Be  tossed  for  aye  on  roughest  seas ; 
As  storms  beset  her  own  frail  bark, 
They  seem  her  purposes  to  mock, 
But  naught  can  move  her  from  that  rock, 
By  which  she  learns  what  life  attains, 
When  in  God's  love  the  soul  remains. 

We  know  not,  mortals  ne'er  may  know 
Until  temptation's  power  assails, 


SAVED.  91 

What  grace  from  hidden  streams  can  flow, 
What  wondrous  love  from  God  will  glow. 
When,  in  the  soul's  most  direful  needs, 
It  for  infinite  wisdom  pleads, 
And  finds  in  faith  such  perfect  strength 
As  on  God's  word  to  rest  at  length ; 
Such  trusting  makes  the  spirit  pure, 
And  proves  life's  purposes  secure. 

SWITZERLAND,  1884. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

rT^HE  flowers  are  beautiful,  my  friend ; 
Love  no  sweeter  gift  could  send, 
A  breath  of  friendship's  living  spring 
From  affection's  depths  they  bring. 

Blue  violets,  with  modest  grace, 
Look  me  kindly  in  the  face  ; 
And  heliotrope,  with  fragrance  rare, 
Sweetly  scents  the  evening  air. 

The  orange  blossom's  perfumed  kiss 
Greets  the  senses,  —  fills  with  bliss ; 
To  waiting  spirits,  glad  surprise, 
Heaven's  perfume  from  the  skies. 


REMEMBRANCE.  93 

The  calla  lifts  its  cup  of  white 
Heavenward  for  a  drink  of  light ; 
The  morning  drops  a  tear  of  dew 
In  its  depths  of  pearly  hue. 

The  rosebud,  sweeter  than  the  rest, 
Every  leaf  from  heart  to  crest, 
Is  like  the  folding  of  great  love, 
Round  about  us  from  above, 

Which  courage  to  life's  work  impart, 
Higher  longings  to  the  heart, 
A  perfume  which  no  flower  can  give,  — 
'Tis  immortality  to  live. 


DREAMS. 

"\  ^  7E  weigh  not  the  truth  in  our  dreams  ; 
We  think  not  of  time,  nor  of  space. 
Our  loved  ones  are  with  us  again  : 
We  dwell  in  a  moment  of  grace, 

So  real,  so  blissful,  so  true, 

We  seem  to  ourselves  wide-awake  ; 

Nor  think,  in  a  moment  or  two, 
The  spell,  the  illusion,  will  break ; 

Though  ofttimes  before  we  have  known 
How  fleeting  the  joys  of  a  dream  ; 

When  sleep  from  our  eyelids  has  flown, 
No  longer  are  things  as  they  seem. 


A   FRAGMENT. 

HPHERE  are  some  things  we  oft  confess, 

The  which  we  do  not  now  possess ; 
But  once  could  they  increase  our  store, 
We  would  not  ask  for  one  thing  more. 

O  vain  delusion  !  vain  desires  ! 
To  have,  will  but  increase  the  fires 
Which  burn  within  each  human  breast ; 
It  is  the  human  soul's  unrest. 


A  TOBLEST  deeds  are  only  wrought 

From  out  the  realm  of  noble  thought; 
Man's  aspirations  are  as  naught, 
Unless  such  inspiration  's  sought. 


1776-1876. 

amidst  the  rigging  of  a 
Miniature  "  Ship  of  State," 
That,  in  its  youthful  vigor  grown, 

First  felt  its  future  great, 
Stood  the  "Immortal  Washington," 

With  one  hand  at  the  helm, 
Steering,  through  seas  of  blood  and  woe, 
To  anchorage,  a  realm. 

His  stalwart  form,  commanding  those 

Less  hopeful  in  the  fight, 
Inspired  all  hearts  with  courage  firm 

To  battle  for  the  right, 
Until  their  arms  victorious 

Proclaimed  with  loud  huzzas 


ioo  1776-1876. 

A  nation  born  to  march  for  aye 
Beneath  the  "  Stripes  and  Stars." 

Since  then  a  century  has  flown ; 

This  stalwart  "  Ship  of  State  " 
Has  stood  the  strain  of  battles  fierce, 

Of  civil  war's  debate, 
That  shook  her  girders,  beam  to  end, 

Plunged  her  in  deepest  flood  ; 
'T  was  then  the  immortal  Lincoln  steered 

The  ship  through  seas  of  blood. 

But  now,  ye  clarion  voices,  ring  ! 

From  hamlet,  hill,  and  town, 
From  broad  expanse  of  prairie  land, 

From  Rocky  Mountain  crown ; 
To  proclaim  a  nation's  birthday ; 

One  hundred  years  have  flown, 
Since,  in  the  throes  of  freedom's  war, 

America  was  born. 


Let  the  booming  of  the  cannon, 

Once  heard  at  Bunker  Hill, 
Re-echo  all  the  country  round, 

Our  souls  with  rapture  thrill. 
So  great  has  been  the  progress  made, 

So  great  our  nation's  fame, 
How  glorious,  we  can  but  sing, 

Our  nation's  great  acclaim, 

Let  not  fierce  hand  of  party  rule 

Her  stalwart  sinews  shake, 
Nor  fiercer  hands  of  anarchy 

Her  highest  courage  break. 
Let  not  man's  fierce  ambitions  prove, 

For  wealth's  unseemly  gain, 
A  greater  curse  to  rule  the  land, 

Our  nation's  glory  stain. 


JAMES    A.    GARFIELD. 

/^ARFIELD  lies  slain  ! 

The  bulwark  of  the  nation's  Ship  of 

State 

Creaks  as  it  rides  the  stormy  sea  of  death  : 
Around  the  world  is  heard  the  pistol-shot, 

Garfield  lies  slain  ! 
Then  all  is  still  —  and  silence, 
A  dread  and  awful  silence,  now  prevails  ; 
Millions  of  people  wait  with  anxious 
Hearts'  bated  breath  the  next  electric  flash  : 

He  lives  !  he  lives  ! 

Our  nation's  chosen  leader,  still  he  lives  ; 
The  news  to  all  the  world  fresh  courage  gives. 

He  lives  !  he  lives  ! 


JAMES  A.  GARFIELD.  103 

"  Thank  God,  he  lives  ! " 

Comes  flashing  o'er  the  wires  from  far  and  near ; 
And  joining  hearts  and  hands,  the  nation,  true 
To  its  great  destiny,  marches  boldly  on, 

Though  Garfield  lies 

'Twixt  life  on  earth  and  hence  for  eighty  days. 
The  Ship  of  State  upon  her  shoulders  bore, 
Through  all  those  anxious  weeks  of  her  baptism, 
The  treasured  life  ;  cradled  upon  her  breast 

The  martyred  President ; 
Most  hopeful  that  the  nation's  full  reunion 
Might  come  through  another  benediction 

Of  sacrifice ! 

Such  crucial  days ! 

Upward  and  onward,  to  a  higher  plane, 
Moved  the  wide  world,  to  which  the  sacrifice 
Had  suddenly  uplifted  all  mankind ; 

So  great  the  cost ! 


104  JAMES  A.  GARFIELD. 

Garfield,  by  long  suffering,  drew  the  pulses  of 
The  world  to  beat  as  one  against  such  crime. 
But  must  the  cup  be  drained  to  bitter  dregs  ? 
No  power  on  earth  the  fatal  blow  can  stay. 

The  nation  took  the  cup, 
And  drank,  as  only  they  can  drink,  who  know 
That  from  such  potions  comes  a  better  day. 

Right  must  prevail ! 


NUREMBERG'S  GABLES. 

1885. 

D  Nuremberg ! 
Poets    have    sung   thy   wondrous 

gables  from 

Days  mediaeval,  and  now  they  tune  my  lyre 
To  tell  thee  of  their  beauty  once  again. 

Like  entering  wedge,  those  many-storied 
Roofs  above  the  eaves,  sharp-ridged,  pierce 
To  yonder  sky. 

Old  Nuremberg  ! 
No  merely  simple  words  can  paint  in  rhyme, 

The  pictures  which,  against  the  evening  sky, 
Thy  pointed  spires  and  gabled  roofs  can  make ; 

For  who  can  tell  where  homes  and  churches  end, 
Or  clouds  begin,  as  cometh  down  the  night 
O'er  ancient  town. 


106  NUREMBERG'S  GABLES. 

Old  Nuremberg  ! 
Methinks  to  climb  upon  thy  terraced  roofs, 

And  lay  my  weary  head  among  the  clouds 
That  nestle  there  so  closely  round  thy  brow, 
Would  fill  my  spirit  full  of  inward  peace, 
And  bring  some  revelation  of  the  power 
That  dwells  in  Art ! 

Old  Nuremberg  ! 
Thou  didst  inspire  our  Albrecht  Diirer's  soul, 

The  same  thou  wroughtst  through  Master  Workman 

Kraft,  — 

Who  sought  with  tireless  energy  and  force 
The  soul  of  beauty  there  to  trace  anew, 
In  carved  woodwork  and  in  chiselled  stone, 
In  cathedral  walls. 

Old  Nuremberg ! 
I  think  of  all  the  ages  that  have  sped 

Since  first  thy  gabled  roofs,  cathedral  spires, 


NUREMBERG'S  GABLES.  107 

And  dormer  windows  (sleepy  eyes,  half  closed) 
Have  caught  the  sunshine  and  the  balmy  air, 
The  storms  of  winter,  and  the  lightning's  glare, 
From  yonder  skies ! 

Old  Nuremberg ! 
Thou  hast  ever  sought  to  bring  to  human  souls, 

Living  beneath  thy  roofs,  some  knowledge  fair, 
Of  life  beyond  the  deep  blue  of  thy  skies  ; 

That  life  which  many  poets  taught  and  sung, 
That  sculptors  wrought  and  artists  daily  sought 
Within  thy  walls. 

Old  Nuremberg ! 
What  is  it  dulls  the  chisel,  holds  the  thought, 

This  living  thought  within  the  human  brain  ? 
Did  I  say  life  beyond  ?     Forgive  my  words  : 

The  life  that  now  is,  claims  our  constant  work, 
Demands  the  soul  within  to  wake  and  live, 
And  of  its  courage  give. 


IN   MEMORIAM. 

THE  REV.  JOSEPH  HAVEN,    D.D. 

OORROWING,  yet  rejoicing ! 

Who  can  reveal 

The  wealth  of  love,  the  grief  we  feel, 
When  such  as  he  have  lived  and  died. 
Have  walked  the  earth,  then  crossed  the  tide, 
And  we,  though  weeping,  must  press  on 
Through  all  life's  busy,  jostling  throng, 
Until  our  own  life's  journey 's  done. 

Sorrowing  is  not  mourning, 

For  Jesus  wept ! 

His  soul  was  stirred  when  Lazarus  slept 
The  sleep  of  death,  and  he  did  weep : 
Sweet  tears  of  consolation  given, 
To  comfort ;  when  our  hearts  are  riven, 


THE  REV.  JOSEPH  HAVEN,  D.D.         109 

His  tears  assure  us  't  is  not  wrong 
For  us  to  weep  when  friends  are  gone. 

Sorrowing,  yet  rejoicing ! 

We  will  rejoice. 

For  such  a  life  gives  ample  proof, 
That  all  the  filling  of  the  woof 
We  weave  in  life  is  full  of  joy ; 
For  sorrow  is  but  Christ's  alloy 
With  joy,  to  give  the  light  and  shade 
To  human  life,  which  will  not  fade. 

Sorrowing,  yet  rejoicing ! 

He  bids  us  live. 

Well  might  the  glance  the  angels  give, 
Be  always  pitying,  for  the  need 
Is  great  to  comfort  on  our  way. 
And  thus  a  blessing  day  by  day 
Comes  wafted  from  the  other  shore, 
From  out  this  life  that 's  gone  before. 


TO  WHITTIER, 

ON   THE   ANNIVERSARY   OF    HIS    SEVENTIETH 
BIRTHDAY. 

A  S  sunlight  on  the  mountain-top, 

As  moonlight  on  the  sea, 
Most  brilliantly  the  lapse  of  years 
Wafts  back  its  light  to  thee. 

Full-orbed,  thy  sympathetic  soul, 
For  all  the  rights  of  men, 

Did  struggle  valiantly  and  long, 
By  word  and  deed  and  pen, 

Until  the  conflict  waxed  to  war, 

And  slavery  was  slain,  — 
That  blackest  woe  of  human  might, 

Scourging  our  nation's  name. 


TO    WHITTIER.  Ill 

How  looks  the  battlefield  of  life, 

How  stirs  thy  soul  within, 
As  rising  to  the  snowy  peaks 

Of  threescore  years  and  ten  ? 

What  visions  from  a  land  of  rest 

Float  o'er  thy  peaceful  brow? 
What  memories  of  all  the  past 

Are  ever  present  now  ? 

Most  sacredly  the  ministry 

Of  many  a  ripened  year 
Shall  crown  thy  brow  with  honor, 

Thou  blessed  prophet  seer. 


FAIR   DRYBURGH    ABBEY. 

T^AIR  Dryburgh  Abbey  !    Tell  me  ! 
From  whence  art  thou  ? 
And  whither  dost  thou  go  ? 
A  thought  within  the  brain  of  man 
For  centuries  has  stood  embalmed. 
Thy  ivy-covered  walls,  fast  falling  to  decay, 
Are  full  of  life,  so  much  of  thought  is  still  expressed 
In  what  remains 
Of  shafts  and  casings, 
Nave  and  transept, 
Choir  and  cross, 
In  chapters  crowning  fluted  columns  bold, 


FAIR  DRYBURGH  ABBEY.  113 

That  it  were  well 
To  see  thee  oft, 

Though  now  thou  stand1  st  in  tumbled  ruins  old, 
Upon  the  land. 

Fair  Dryburgh  Abbey  !   Heed  me  ! 
Thy  arched  doorways 
Are  poetry  of  form, 
So  finely  carved  thy  blocks  of  stone ; 
While  balanced,  as  by  magic, 
In  all  its  wondrous  beauty,  supreme  o'er  all, 
Yonder  harp  window  hangs  amidst  its  wall, 
And  from  that  height, 
The  light  of  heaven, 
Greatest  boon  to  life, 
Shines  fair, 

Through  chiselled  tracery,  a  silvery  sheen, 
A  witchery  o'er 
Departed  days, 
8 


H4  FAIR  DRYBURGH  ABBEY. 

So  great  its  beauty  rare,  so  unforeseen 
In  days  gone  by. 

Fair  Dryburgh  Abbey !    Listen  ! 

Thy  cloistered  cells, 

For  centuries  agone, 
Where  dwelt  Cistercian  monks, 
Sincere  enthusiasts  of  old, 

Are  now  the  eyrie  homes  of  merry  songsters  bold ; 
Some  finely  carved  cornice  holds  their  fragile  nests 

The  swallow,  thrush, 

The  meadow  lark, 

And  such  of  kin, 

Their  matins  hold, 
Singing  their  lives  away  in  happy  song, 

That  here  they  dwell, 

So  glad  and  free, 
Regardless  of  the  past,  lying  so  very  long 

'Neath  ruined  walls. 


FAIR  DRYBURGH  ABBEY.  11$ 

Fair  Dryburgh  Abbey  !    It  is  sad  ! 

Forsaken  is 

Thy  banquet  hall ; 

So  grand  when  in  its  prime,  but  there 
Remains,  beneath  thy  vaulted  roof, 
Enough  in  which  to  trace  the  footsteps  of  the  past : 
Thy  belfry's  winding  stair,  now  lost  in  air  j 

Thy  corridors, 

Thy  columns  fine ; 

Deep  window-seats, 

In  which  to  dream. 
Each  weird  spot  seems  dearer  than  the  last, 

To  picture  scenes 

Poets  have  sung 
Of  revelries  within  these  Abbey  walls 

In  days  of  old. 

Fair  Dryburgh  Abbey !     Listen  ! 
Midst  crumbling  stones, 
With  ivy  overgrown, 


Il6  FAIR  DRYBURGH  ABBEY. 

St.  Moden's  chapel  stands  intact, 
And  guards  the  mortal  dust 
Of  baronets  of  old  within  its  narrow  cells. 
St.  Mary's  aisle,  covered  with  trailing  vine  and  moss, 

In  these  latter  days, 

Holds  what  remains, 

The  earthly  mould 

Of  an  immortal  mind  ; 
The  soul  of  Walter  Scott  beyond  the  press 

Of  this  life's  toil, 

Long  since  has  passed 
And  winged  its  way,  the  spirit's  sure  egress, 

To  heavenly  lands. 

Fair  Dryburgh  Abbey  !     Hearken  ! 

Guard  well  this  dust, 

In  shadow  of  its  home, 
Buried  beneath  thy  lingering  shades, 
Its  earthly  resting-place. 


FAIR  DRYBURGH  ABBEY.  117 

Rich  memories  of  the  living  past  these  ruins  hold, 
Treasured  for  aye,  whilst  human  life  shall  last. 

Peace  to  thy  walls, 

So  prostrate  laid ; 

Peace  rest  on  pilgrims, 

Who  yet  may  come, 
To  give  due  homage  to  thine  honored  sage. 

When  Gabriel  calls, 

"  Give  up  this  dust," 
Thou  wilt  depart,  custodian  of  the  age, 

Released  at  last. 

ABBOTSFORD, 

November,  1885. 


A  S  the  flowers  grow  by  sunshine, 

By  rain  and  shadows  too, 
So  the  soufs  great  mystic  progress 
Is  by  what  it  passes  through. 


COURAGE   BY  THE   WAY. 

A  T  times,  it  seemeth  all  progress  is  stayed ; 

Our  spirits  are  heavy,  our  bodies  we  lade 
With  burdens  so  very  grievous  to  bear, 
We  wish,  but  in  vain,  for  release  from  all  care. 

From  out  of  this  care  no  way  can  we  see  : 
When  once  it  has  grown,  like  the  great  banyan-tree, 
Its  roots  strike  deeper  and  deeper,  we  find, 
Each  day,  it  engrosses  so  much  of  our  mind. 

Not  so  the  Father's  intent,  as  we  know ; 
"  Consider  the  lilies  afield,  how  they  grow," 
Rings  down  the  ages,  a  lesson  of  trust, 
With  purity  filling  the  souls  of  the  just. 


122  COURAGE  BY  THE    WAY. 

I  'm  thinking  of  what  the  Saviour  would  say, 
Were  He  to  walk  with  us,  in  person,  one  day 
Listen,  the  Father  is  waiting  to  share 
The  heaviest  burden  of  all  of  our  care ; 

Not  to  the  utmost  of  each  day's  full  strength, 
Unfitting  the  soul  for  its  best  work  at  length. 
No  life  should  be  taken  at  all  unawares ; 
It  is  but  the  labor  of  love  God  requires. 


GOD'S  WILL. 

T  UST  to  lie  here,  —  is  this  all, 

Dear  Father,  that  Thou  ask'st  of  me  to  do? 

Not  all,  My  child.      Thy  life  beguile 

With  cheerfulness  and  courage  all  the  while. 

But,  Father,  I  could  work  and  pray  with  far 
More  courage,  not  to  lie  in  bed  all  day. 

Ay,  true,  My  child !  and  hence  My  mandate, 

Lie  in  bed  the  -while. 

Lie,  until  the  Sun  of  righteousness, 

Dwelling  in  thy  heart  supreme, 

Shall  conquer  all  unrest; 

Shall  make  it  seem  like  work, 

Done  in  My  way,  not  thine. 


J24  GOD'S   WILL. 

Work  !  like  work  to  prostrate  lie  ? 

Let  all  my  hopes  and  wishes,  one  by  one, 

For  lack  of  power  to  execute,  perish? 

To  feel  the  intellect  grow  stronger  far 

Than  words  can  reach,  far  keener  day  by  day, 

As  suffering  in  the  body  quickens  life? 

Suppose,  My  child,  the  lovely 
Fragile  flower,  that's  born  for  beauty, 
Should  oft  complain,  because  no  fruitage 
Followed,  before  its  beauty  waned  ? 

But,  Father,  cheerfully,  each  day  to  ask 
That  others  be  my  feet,  my  hands,  to  bring 
E'en  the  simplest  things  of  life  ;  and  smother 
Almost  daily  the  many,  many  wants 
That  rise  like  unseen  spectres  in  my  mind, 
To  taunt  me  with  my  helplessness  ? 


GOD'S    WILL.  125 

Just  so,  My  child  !  and  doing  //it's, 
To  know  My  power  is  full  of  bliss. 

Ofttimes  I  turn  from  all  my  body  wants, 
And  feel  Thy  overflowing  presence  near, 
Waiting  to  give  more  than  my  soul  can  ask ; 
Then  it  is  that  all  these  earthly  wants  subside. 
So  much  Thy  living  presence  means  to  those 
Who  live  most  truly  near  Thee  all  the  while. 

//  were  well,  My  child ! 

More  quickly  wilt  thou  know,  trusting  Me, 

All  else  shall  to  thee  added  be. 

Like  work,  indeed,  it  is  to  dwell  apart 

From  all  the  world, 

Within  my  four-walled  room. 

Ay,  Father,  that  Thou  know'st  full  well, 

It  is  the  hardest  work,  that  yet 


126  GOD'S   WILL. 

Thou  hast  given  me  to  do. 

Oh,  guard  me  well  throughout  the  weary  days, 

And  free  my  soul  at  last  from  all  the  pain, 

From  all  the  struggles  that  this  life  implies, 

From  all  the  daily  imperfections ; 

And  may  Thy  constant  love  with  me  abide  ! 

Full  well,  My  child, 

Thou  art  learning  life's  great  lesson, 

That  whatsoever  be  thy  lot, 

Thou  7t  be  therein  content. 


THE   BODY'S   REST. 

'"THERE  remains  a  rest !     Ah,  yes  ! 

Even  in  the  midst  of  the  great  city's 
Clashing  noise  of  busy  mart,  and  all 
The  heavy  tread  of  earnest  life  o'erhead. 
Nothing  disturbs  these  cities  of  the  dead, 
So  calm  the  bodies  lie  beneath  the  sod ; 
Nothing  to  mark  their  resting-place 
But  the  cold  gray  stones, 
The  marble  slabs,  the  registrar 
Of  the  living  dead  —  to  the  dead  alive. 

'T  is  well  at  times  to  think  there  is  release 
From  all  this  toil  and  worrying  care ; 
From  all  enticing  pleasures  too,  as  well, 
That  give  the  soul  such  struggles  to  attain. 


128  THE  BODY'S  REST. 

It  were  well  at  times,  I  say,  to  realize 
That  some  day  there  will  come  a  glad  release, 
Else  it  were  more  than  mortal  life  could  stand 
To  struggle  on  forever. 

Knowing  this, 

That  sometime  all  this  rush  will  cease, 

How  strong  the  spirit  is 

To  live  its  life  full  purposed  to  the  end. 

For  know,  at  any  time  and  all,  the  end 

Is  nigh :  it  will  not  be  too  long  delayed, 

When,  in  some  city  of  the  dead, 

Thy  body  too  shall  rest,  as  these  now  lie  ; 

Thy  spirit  to  the  world  of  spirits  gone, 

As  these  have  gone. 

BOSTON, 

"  Granary  Burial  Ground? 
"  1660." 


UNREST. 


VW HEN  I  long  for  resting, 

As  oft  I  do  in  pain, 
In  thought  I  'm  turning  ever 
To  the  restless  sea  again. 


Why  should  the  old,  old  ocean 
Bring  thoughts  of  rest  to  me  ? 

Because  I  read  a  lesson 

There,  the  Lord  is  teaching  me. 

Pain  is  the  restless  ocean, 
That 's  tossing  to  and  fro ; 

Give  way  to  the  ceaseless  motion, 
And  rest  you  '11  sooner  know. 


CALL  FOR   HELP. 

TTELP  !  for  it  is  dark  :  Thy  hand  is  not 

Leading  through  this  lonely  spot, 
Else  I  could  say,  "  Lord,  let  Thy  will  be  done, 
Until  the  whole  of  life's  great  battle  's  won 
In  Thy  great  name." 

Help  !  though  it  is  light !     Dost  Thou  not  see  ? 
Strife  is  raging,  wrong  is  rife, 
All  through  the  world,  blind  unbelief 's  in  power  ? 
It  rushes  on  and  rules  the  present  hour ; 
Against  Thy  name  ! 

/ 
Hell's  gates  are  opened  wide,  and  storming, 

Through  the  tides  of  life's  dull  fate ; 


CALL  FOR  HELP.  1 

Man  seeks  to  lead  the  masses  of  mankind 
By  selfish  tyranny  and  bitter  hate, 
Not  in  Thy  name. 

His  better  aspirations  pale  beneath 
The  weight  of  life's  ambitions  ; 
Come  to  the  rescue,  Lord ;  Thy  wisdom  give 
To  man,  Thy  wonderful  creation, 
In  Thine  own  name. 


CLING  NOT   TO  THE   PAST. 

"  T   ET  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead," 

The  poet  said ; 

And  there  rolled  from  off  the  living  present 
A  weight  of  memories,  that  were  heavy 
With  all  that  makes  life  scarcely  worth  the  living,  — 
Long   remembered    heartaches,    when    friendship's 

flowers 

Were  crushed  beneath  the  feet  of  some  heartless  soul, 
Who,  wanting  power,  cared  not  for  the  wrecks  it 

wrought, 
So  that  the  goal  it  sought  and  struggled   for  was 

gained. 

It  is  hard  to  see  our  own  fond  hopes  and 
Aspirations  thus  trampled  in  the  dust,  — 


CLING  NOT  TO    THE  PAST.  133 

The  love  of  friends,  once  golden  and  sincere, 

Through  some  unkind  thought,  or  word  let  drop, 

Forever  turned  upon  you  with  reserve  ; 

But,  hard  as  this  may  be  to  bear,  I  would 

Not  be  the  soul  to  share  the  memories 

That  must  come  and  go  within  the  wake 

Of  such  ambitions  at  last  realized. 

So,  "  Let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead." 

And  soon  the  ghosts  of  many  deeds  undone, 

The  hosts  of  opportunities  now  lost, 

The  golden  moments  of  forgotten  purposes,  — 

Often  returning  in  their  fevered  tread, 

To  crush  the  soul  in  deepest  agony,  — 

Will  pass  away  forever, 

And  all  life's  work,  forgiven  its  mistakes, 

Will  be  accepted  for  its  worth. 


QUESTIONINGS. 

,  weary  soul ! 

Why  dost  thou  question  the  Lord's  decrees  ? 
Why  look'st  thou  for  subtle  powers, 
Ruling  this  wondrous  world  of  ours? 

Dost  thou  not  know, 
Canst  thou  not  feel,  within  thy  breast, 
A  will  that  governs  thy  behests, 
An  anchorage  thy  love  attests  ? 

Dost  thou  not  see, 
Not  here  to  mortals  is  it  given 
To  know  the  mysteries  of  earth, 
Or  solve  the  mystery  of  birth  ? 


QUESTIONINGS.  135 

Hast  thou  not  felt, 
When  trials  prest  upon  thy  heart, 
When  the  soul  with  joy  expands, 
Infinite  power  thy  will  commands  ? 

Curb  not  thy  life, 

With  immortality  endowed ; 

Crush  not  its  hidden  deeper  springs ; 

Give  full  weight  to  all  it  brings. 

In  God  abide ; 

Who  ever  lives  anear  to  Him, 
Will  find  that  e'en  the  questionings 
Are  but  His  stepping-stones  to  truth. 


IN  THE  END. 

"\X7HY  the  trials, 

Why  the  passions, 

Why  the  daily  contradictions  of  the  human  soul  ? 
Like  waves  dashing,  forces  clashing, 
Courage  giving  to  the  living, 
Thus  through  much  of  tribulation  seek  life's  goal ; 
Richer  will  be  the  spirit's  growth,  greater  its  worth, 
In  the  end. 

Is  the  conflict 

Worth  the  struggle  ? 

Are  life's  purposes  so  weak  that  we  the  question  dare  ? 
Light  is  breaking,  right  is  gaining ; 
Might  is  greater,  fight  the  better. 


IN  THE  END.  137 

When  more  fierce  the  battle  rages,  the  greater  care ; 
But  character  will  ripen  fast,  and  by  it  gain, 
In  the  end. 

Oft  repenting, 
Often  falling ; 

This  is  our  life's  great  undertaking,  to  retain 
All  the  goodness  and  the  gladness, 
In  the  building  of  our  being ; 
Striving  thus  creation's  greatest  purpose  to  attain, 
To  become  what  God  Himself  designed,  that  we 
should  be 

In  the  end. 


SHIELDING. 

"Oh  that  I  could   shield  our  children   from  the  storms 
nnd  vexatious  trials  of  the  world  !  " 

T  WOULD  not  shield  them  if  I  could, 

These  pledges  of  our  love, 
From  all  the  ills  and  woes  of  life, 
Assigned  by  God  above. 

Out  in  the  world's  great  paths  of  right 

They  're  treading  not  alone ; 
Beneath  the  Artist's  chisel-work 

Doth  all  creation  moan. 

For  not  in  days  of  greatest  ease 

Will  we  best  treasure  find ; 
The  roughest  paths  and  sternest  needs 

Create  the  strongest  mind ; 


SHIELDING,  139 

Create  the  longings  of  the  soul, 

Which  find  no  answer  here, 
Save  in  the  loving  heart's  embrace, 

Of  God  the  sovereign  near. 

Then  welcome  them,  our  children  dear, 

Trials  as  well  as  joy ; 
The  outward  strifes  of  daily  life 

Will  not  the  soul  destroy. 

But  welcome  them  with  trembling, 

Bespeak  the  earnest  prayer, 
That  wheresoe'er  the  Father  leads, 

He  '11  keep  you  in  His  care. 

September  6,  1874. 


SHADOWS. 

T 1  7"HY  shrink  we  from  the  shadows, 
Which  cross  our  steps  at  morn, 
The  'cool  refreshing  shadows, 
Forerunners  of  the  dawn? 

Why  shrink  we  from  the  shadows, 
When  comes  the  noontide  heat,  — 

The  daily  lengthening  shadows, 
Which  bring  us  some  retreat  ? 

Why  shrink  we  from  the  shadows, 
As  eventide  draws  near,  — 

Those  loving  restful  shadows, 
To  weary  ones  most  dear? 


SHADOWS.  141 

As  taller  grow  the  pine-trees, 

Within  the  densest  shade, 
So  nobler  grows  the  human  soul, 

When  on  it  cares  are  laid. 

Why  seek  we  always  sunshine, 

Oh,  spirit,  tell  me  why? 
No  life  's  so  full  of  sunshine 

But  on  it  shadows  lie. 

No  soul  so  free  from  sorrow, 

But  sometime,  on  its  brow, 
Will  sit  serene  the  sorrow 

That 's  christening  it  now. 

December  25,  1878. 


"REST  FOR  THE  WEARY." 

A  ND  must  it  always  be  my  cross,  to  bear 

Life's  toils  and  pleasures,  sorrows  and  the  like, 

With  weary  care  ? 
If  thus,  why  do  I  mourn  ?  for  it  is  said  : 

"  Bring  all  our  cares  to  Him  who  for  us  careth ; 
Lay  all  our  burdens  down,  for  still  He  beareth." 

And  so  it  is,  when  on  Christ's  loving  breast 

I  rest  my  weary  head  and  say,  "  Thou  knowest ; 
Forgive  me,  lest 

I  murmur  or  repine,"  life  does  not  seem 
The  heavy  cross  it  did  at  early  morn, 

For  at  His  feet  I  Ve  laid  my  burdens  down. 


EASTER   BELLS. 

TJEAR  the  Easter  bells  all  ringing; 
Listen  to  their  message  bringing 
Bethlehem's  glad  song  again,  — 
"  Peace  on  earth,  good-will  to  men." 
On  the  wings  of  fleetest  dawning, 
In  the  early  gray  of  morning, 
Angels  speed  with  loving  hands, 
To  unloose  death's  tightened  bands. 

Such  the  mission  of  the  angels. 
This  the  story  of  the  annals, 
Soldier  guards  are  wrapped  in  slumber ; 
Not  a  soul  of  all  their  number 
Hears  the  Easter  bells  all  ringing, 
Hears  the  heavenly  chorus  singing, 


144  EASTER  BELLS. 

"  On  earth  peace,  good-will  to  men ; 
Christ,  our  Lord,  is  risen  again." 

But  while  Easter  bells  are  ringing, 
Mary  's  to  the  garden  bringing 
Balm  and  spices  in  her  hand, 
To  fulfil  her  heart's  command. 
Other  women  now  are  watching, 
Waiting  for  the  glorious  morning, 
When  the  Christ,  at  early  dawn, 
Seals  the  resurrection  morn. 


LIGHT  AHEAD. 

TVJOT  so  dark  the  pathway,  darling, 

Light  ahead  !  we  cry. 
Courage  lifts  the  darkest  clouds, 
That  before  us  lie,  — 

Lifts  and  shows  the  future  brighter ; 

We  cannot  deny, 
It  is  better,  better  far,  to 

Know  the  truth  than  die. 

To  know  the  truth  and  struggle  well 
For  the  strength  we  need, 

Shows  a  greater  confidence 
In  our  Father's  lead 

10 


146  LIGHT  AHEAD. 

Than  dying,  as  our  fondest  hopes 

Are  blossoming  so  fair. 
Thank  God !     He  seals  our  stewardship, 

Marks  our  daily  care, 

Accepts  the  labor  and  the  life, 

We  would  gladly  give, 
To  bring  our  children,  day  by  day, 

Nearer  the  Christ  to  live. 


GUIDANCE. 

'"THOU  leadest  me,  so  great  the  thought, 

So  full  of  inspiration  wrought, 
It  fills  my  soul ;  naught  e'er  betides, 
When  in  such  faith  my  soul  abides. 

Thou  leadest  me,  though  dark  the  way ; 
My  feet  shall  never  from  Thee  stray ; 
For  when  I  walk,  my  hand  in  Thine, 
I  feel  Thy  presence  all  divine. 

Thou  leadest  me ;  and  that  is  best, 
Though  disappointments  fill  my  breast. 
Though  earthly  aspirations  fail, 
Thou  leadest  to  the  "  Holy  Grail." 


148  GUIDANCE. 

Thou  leadest  me  ;  the  day  grows  short, 
The  night  comes  onward  ;  and  apart 
From  all  the  surging  cares  of  life, 
From  all  its  labor  and  its  strife, 

Thou  leadest  me  through  death's  dark  night ; 
Thou  leadest  me  to  realms  of  light ; 
Thus  gathered  in  Thine  arms  to  rest, 
My  longing  soul  is  truly  blest. 


TO   MY  MOTHER. 

OHE  builded  better  than  she  knew, 
Gates  of  pearl  and  crystal  dew, 
Arching  high  above  her  head, 
In  the  way  the  Father  led. 

She  builded  better  than  she  knew, 
Walls  of  sapphire's  varied  hue, 
Flashing  far,  through  sin's  dark  night, 
Brilliant  rays  from  God's  own  light. 

She  builded  better  than  she  knew, 
When,  with  lavish  hand  and  true 
Scattering  kind  deeds  everywhere, 
Lifting  many  a  weight  of  care. 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

She  builded  better  than  she  knew, 
When,  from  hidden  depths,  she  drew 
Words  of  love,  in  kindness  spoken, 
Falling  from  her  lips  in  token 

Of  the  dear  Saviour's  presence  there, 
Beaming  in  her  face  so  fair, 
Dwelling  in  her  soul  divine, 
Precious  tabernacle  thine. 

She  builded  thus,  till  life  was  o'er, 
Till,  within  the  open  door, 
Heard  she  the  glad  song  of  love, 
Calling  to  the  home  above. 


A   FAREWELL. 

TT  was  a  day  of  summer's  sunshine  without, 

But  within  hearts  were  shadowed  with  parting, 
For  mother  was  gently  passing  away 
To  the  great  "  Beyond,"  as  the  night  to  day. 
Her  soul,  gladdened  with  its  near  fruition 
Of  things  unseen  to  our  mortal  vision, 
Looked  out  upon  us,  with  its  quiet  peace, 
With  its  loving,  longing  benediction. 
And  thus  she  spake  : 

"  In  the  Lord  put  all  your  trust,  my  children ; 
No  good  thing  will  He  withhold  from  those 
Who  rest  within  the  fold  of  His  great  heart, 
So  strong  to  bear  your  spirits,  so  willing 
To  share  your  very  heaviest  crosses, 


152  A   FAREWELL. 

Or  to  relieve  your  very  lightest  care. 

Trust  Him  for  more  than  e'en  your  daily  bread ; 

Trust  Him  for  your  soul's  real  life  instead  ! 

But  knowing  this, 

That  wheresoe'er  the  Father  leads  is  best, 

More  bravely  can  you  do  your  life's  work  well. 

When  called  to  drink  the  cup  of  bitter-sweet 

That  is  so  often  pressed  to  human  lips, 

Search  for  hidden  meaning  in  its  depths, 

More  oft  the  bitterness  will  be  most  kind. 

Or  if  you  see  the  brighter  ray  that  lines 

The  darkest  cloud  that  overhangs  your  path, 

Most  gladly  will  your  hearts  in  earnest  say, 

'  Our  God  is  King,  and  kind  is  all  His  way ; ' 

If  you  can  feel,  as  Jesus  felt  that  night 

Of  sacrifice,  '  Thy  will,  not  mine  is  best,' 

It  will  color  all  your  daily  inner  life 

With  one  sweet  thought :  it  is  the  Christ 

Who  is  leading  me  to-day.     And  though  no 


A  FAREWELL.  153 

Open  door  we  find  away  from  burdens, 

Every  gate 's  ajar,  and  every  one  swings  far, 

Where  Christ  an  entrance  gains ;  we  may  follow, 

If  we  will,  the  footsteps  of  the  Master." 

Thus  ended  the  loving  benediction 

Of  the  last  evening  hour,  "  Mother's  farewell." 

August,  1873. 


INTO  THE  SILENCE. 

TNTO  the  silence  come  apart, 

My  soul,  and  rest  awhile, 
For  the  great  eternal  silence 

Will  keep  thee  free  from  guile. 
Into  the  stillness  turn  aside 

From  bustling  cares  of  life, 
The  great  eternal  stillness, 

So  free  from  mortal  strife. 

Within  the  presence  of  thy  Lord, 
Seek  constantly  to  be ; 

The  great  eternal  Presence, 
Awaits,  my  soul,  for  thee. 


INTO    THE  SILENCE.  155 

Drink  from  the  living  fountain-spring 

Of  God's  eternal  truth, 
And  in  the  living  pastures  green, 

Immortalize  thy  youth. 

Creative  energies  combine 

In  everything  that  lives  ; 
Creative  force  is  in  His  hand, 

Which  He  most  freely  gives. 
Then  come  into  His  presence,  come, 

Fear  not,  His  love  receive  : 
The  promises  are  infinite 

To  all  who  will  believe. 

"  Ask,  I  will  give  eternal  life ; " 

Ye  cannot  ask  in  vain. 
"  As  is  thy  day,  thy  strength  shall  be," 

And  great  shall  be  thy  gain. 


156  INTO    THE  SILENCE. 

Eternal  life,  eternal  strength, 
To  meet  each  daily  need, 

It  were  well  at  times  to  turn  aside, 
Upon  such  truths  to  feed. 

June,  1894. 


WITHERED   LEAVES. 


TTEAR  Thou  my  prayer  to-night : 
Let  not  life's  withered  leaves 
In  any  year  to  come  behold  the  light. 


The  lessons  they  have  taught 

Thou  knowest,  Lord,  full  well 

Have  been  well  learned,  or  else  their  work  was  lost. 

Too  late,  too  late,  those  dead, 
Dead  leaves  to  rake,  and  hope 
For  aught  but  bitterness  of  them  to  make. 

Buried  beneath  the  snows 

Of  many  a  winter's  frost, 

No  better  spot  can  be  for  withered  leaves. 


CHRISTMAS'   AMEN 

TV/TAY  a  Merry,  Merry  Christmas 

Dawn  on  your  path  to-day, 
Filling  your  heart  with  gladness, 
With  many  a  merry  lay. 

And  when  the  day  is  ended, 
And  business  rules  again, 

May  there  follow  in  its  wake 
This  Christmas'  Amen. 

December  25,  1875. 


THE  DYING  YEAR. 


year  grows  cold 
As  age  o'er  ages  fold  ; 
The  same  sad  tale  is  told,  — 
The  year  grows  cold. 
So  dark  the  night  ! 
Oh,  morning,  bring  the  light  ! 
The  year  is  shorn  of  might, 
At  dead  of  night, 

But  not  of  love  ; 

For,  in  God's  house  above, 

Is  nestled,  like  a  dove, 

The  year's  great  love,  — 

The  joys  she  brought, 

The  daily  deeds  she  wrought, 


160  THE  DYING   YEAR. 

The  perfect  love  that  sought 
A  life  full-fraught 

For  every  one : 
Until  the  battle's  won, 
Until  life's  work  is  done, 
For  every  one. 
These  are  the  sheaves 
Of  daily  ripened  leaves  ; 
Most  gladly  Christ  receives 
These  garnered  sheaves. 

With  love  and  fear, 

We  mourn  the  old  year  sere. 

Why  grieve  me  ?  cries  the  year, 

Why  weep  ye  here  ? 

Why  mourn  the  past? 

The  present  will  not  last ; 

The  future  travels  fast 

Into  the  past. 

i 


THE  DYING    YEAR.  l6l 

Let  midnight  fall  ; 
A  glory  lifts  the  pall. 
"  Happy  New  Year  "  to  all, 
The  new  hopes  call. 
"  Happy  New  Year  " 
Re-echoes  far  and  near, 
Inspires  all  hearts  with  cheer. 
God  bless  the  year  ! 


OAKLAND,  CALIFORNIA, 

New  Year's  Eve, 
1876. 


ii 


/I  S  joined  our  hearts  in  labor. 
So  join  our  hands  in  play, 
And  rend  all  care  asunder, 

On  this  our  festal  day. 
Too  few  our  days  of  pleasure, 

Too  few  our  hours  of  rest,. 
While  one  in  our  endeavor 

To  do  our  level  best. 


HOLIDAYS  OF   1873. 
To  THE  CHILDREN  : 

TT  is  the  night  after  New  Year's  ; 
The  guests  have  departed, 

Half  the  children  have  flown  ; 
The  house  seems  deserted  ; 

We  are  left  alone. 
Sweet  Herbert,  the  baby, 

With  cunningest  air ; 
And  Bessie,  the  honest  child, 

Truthful  and  fair ; 
With  Arthur  and  Willie,  — 

No  more  do  we  see 
Their  bright  happy  faces, 

Nor  list  to  their  glee. 
A  week  of  hilarity, 


166  HOLIDA  YS  OF  1873. 

Skating,  sliding,  and  fun, 
Was  there  ever  such  sport, 

Since  their  world  was  begun  ? 
It  was  Santa  Glaus'  business, 

Upon  last  Christmas  night, 
To  hide  all  the  stockings, 

His  special  delight. 
So  he  bent  to  the  task 

With  a  hearty  good-will, 
As  fast  as  the  mothers 

N. 

The  stockings  could  fill. 
A  six-footer's  overcoat 

Hung  in  the  hall, 
With  pockets  so  ample, 

Into  one  he  let  fall 
A  stocking  crammed  full, 

Till  the  goodies  o'errun, 
And  laughed  in  his  sleeve 

To  think  of  the  fun ; 


HOLIDAYS  OF  187S.  167 

Kindling  and  shavings 

Covered  one  in  the  grate. 
"What  a  joke,"  thought  Saint  Nick, 

"  Should  a  little  boy  take 
A  match  and  set  fire 

To  his  candies  and  cake." 
They  were  tied  to  the  table  legs, 

Tucked  into  drawers, 
Packed  into  clothes-baskets, 

And  thrown  behind  doors. 
Then  orders,  "  No  mouthful 

Of  food  in  the  morn, 
Until  each  little  child 

Brings  his  stocking  along." 
So,  nine  little  children, 

Who  were  packed  off  to  beds 
At  eight  in  the  evening, 

Were  showing  their  heads 
At  six  in  the  morning, 


1 68  HOLIDAYS   OF  1S73. 

And  this  was  their  song : 
"  Merry  Christmas  to  all ; 

Bring  your  stocking  along." 
There  were  searchings  and 

Huntings,  and  screams  of  delight 
As  one  and  another 

Brought  something  to  light. 
One  poor  little  waif, 

I  think  it  was  Birdie, 
Sought  all  through  the  house, 

From  story  to  story,  — 
"  Where  could  old  Saint  Nick 

Have  hidden  the  thing? 
Not  a  mouthful  of  food 

Till  it  I  can  bring." 
I  know  that  she  found  it, 

For  breakfast  was  gay  : 
That  Christmas  will  cheer  us 

For  many  a  day. 


A  VALENTINE. 

T    ILIES,  roses, 

Sweetest  posies, 
For  my  little  ones  to-day ; 

Skies  the  brightest, 

Hearts  the  lightest, 
Life,  one  blooming  year  of  May. 

If  a  cloud,  a 

Silver  lining 
Turns  its  brightness  to  your  sight ; 

If  a  shower, 

And  sun  is  shining, 
There  will  be  a  rainbow  bright. 


1 70  A    VALENTINE. 

If  a  storm  of 

Wind  is  blowing, 
And  the  thunders  heavy  crash, 

Soon  will  come  the 

Pouring  raindrops, 
And  the  lightning's  vivid  flash. 

If  it  is  night, 

The  pale  moonlight 
Will  watch  over  while  you  sleep ; 

And  may  God's  peace, 

His  joy  o'ershine 
And  all  your  hearts  from  evil  keep  ! 


LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

T   ITTLE  children,  flocked  together 
J — * 

In  life's  garden,  by  the  way, 

Come,  and  let  me  ask  you  kindly, 
What  you  're  thinking  as  you  play? 

Have  you  thought  your  pastimes,  even, 
Formed  a  scaffolding  so  rare, 

That  by  them  you  're  mounting  upward, 
As  we  watch  your  feet  with  care  ? 

Have  you  thought  the  kind  word  spoken, 
Coming  quickly  from  your  lips, 

Leaves  its  impress  on  your  spirit, 
As  beyond  the  tongue  it  slips  ? 


172  LITTLE  CHILDREN. 

Thought  how  full  of  joy  is  childhood? 

When  your  little  spirit  swells 
Only  with  the  happiest  feelings, 

Life  is  full  of  asphodels. 

Thought  how  swiftly  days  are  fleeting, 
And  the  years  come  on  apace  ? 

Keep  your  hearts,  then,  pure  and  simple 
To  be  ready  for  life's  race. 


AN   APRIL  DAY. 

"  A  H,  my  little  Baby  Bay, 

Where  are  you  this  April  day? 
The  flowers  have  come, 
The  birds  now  sing, 
The  air  is  like  a  living  thing  ; 
And  you,  my  blithesome  Baby  Bay, 
What  do  you,  this  April  day?  " 

"  Like  the  bee  upon  the  wing, 
Gath'ring  honey  while  I  sing, 
Playing  out  among  the  flowers, 
All  the  livelong  happy  hours, 
I  '11  pick  up  pleasures  as  they  drop, 
To  fill  my  cup  full  to  the  top, 
Then  I  '11  lay  me  down  to  rest, 


174  AN  APRIL  DAY. 

When  the  dusky  shades  of  night 
Draw  a  curtain  o'er  my  sight." 

"  Baby  Bay,  what  seest  thou, 
In  the  beauty  of  the  flower, 
In  all  things  so  full  of  life  ? 
Tell  me,  Bay,  what  dost  thou  hear 
In  the  song-bird's  notes  so  clear, 
In  the  humming  of  the  bees, 
In  the  rustling  of  the  trees?  " 

"  Mother  dear,  the  hand  I  see, 
Leading  you  and  leading  me, 
All  things  richly  to  enjoy, 
Is  the  music  that  I  hear, 
Thrilling  all  the  world  with  cheer ; 
Do  not  call  me  from  my  play 
On  this  lovely  April  day." 

17  LA  FAYETTE  PLACE,  April  27,  1879. 


BABY  ADALYN. 

T>  ABY  Adalyn  is  a  blessing, 

With  her  curly  locks  of  gold ; 
Her  laughing  eyes  of  sunny  blue 
The  deepest  wealth  of  love  can  hold. 

Her  lips  the  morning  sun  has  kissed, 
And  giv'n  a  touch  of  rosy  hue 

To  all  her  features,  born  so  fair, 

Fresh  as  the  morning's  breath  of  dew. 

Her  very  form  is  full  of  love, 

As,  holding  you  in  warm  embrace, 

It  gives  you  more  than  you  can  ask 
Of  the  true  lover's  hidden  grace. 


176  BABY  ADALYN. 

But  would  you  see  our  Golden  Locks 
Filled  full  of  nature's  sweet  content, 

Then  watch  her  with  four  kittens  small, 
Upon  their  gambols  all  intent. 

Cooing,  kissing,  fondling,  hugging, 
Hear  her  calling  with  delight, 

"  You  pretty,  pretty  little  dears  ; " 
There  never  was  a  sweeter  sight. 

SQUIBNOCKET,  August,  1894. 


BABY  BELLE   HINCHLIFF. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Grandmamma  ?  "     "  I  am  painting 
your  picture."     "  Oh  !  " 

HPHE  winsomest  child  that  ever  was  seen, 

Is  our  dainty  baby  Belle. 
The  sky's  own  blue  is  in  her  eyes, 
Heaven's  own  sunshine  in  her  hair ; 
Her  teeth  like  pearls  from  out  the  sea, 
Her  lips  two  rubies,  pigeon  red ; 
Her  cheeks  two  roses  pink  and  white, 
Her  ears  two  coral  shells  ; 
Two  beautiful  arms  surround  our  necks 
With  tender  love's  encircling  grace  ; 
Two  beautiful  feet  to  do  our  bidding ; 
Two  beautiful  hands  to  her  are  given 
Ours  to  hold  within  their  grasp  ; 


178  BABY  BELLE  HINCHLIFF. 

Her  form  is  full  of  life  and  ease ; 

But  greater  far  than  the  body  fair 

Is  the  beautiful  soul  that  is  treasured  there. 

She  speaks  to  us  of  love  as  true, 

As  the  love  of  hearts  God's  will  to  do ; 

And  we  wonder  why  to  this  world  of  care, 

Has  come  such  a  dear  little  spirit  rare. 

July  8, 1894. 


KISSES. 

little  children,  kisses  so  sweet 
Come  in  your  letters  my  life  to  greet. 
One,  two,  three,  four  pulls,  that 's  how  we  tell 
When  it 's  the  mail-man  rings  the  doorbell. 

Knapsack  he  carries,  trudges  along, 
Leaving  the  letters  till  all  are  gone  ; 
Comes  in  the  morning,  noon,  and  at  night ; 
Uncle  Sam's  gentleman  does  it  all  right. 


WATCHING  FOR    MAMMA. 

"D  ABY,  looking  out  for  me, 

Claps  her  hands  with  joyous  glee, 
And  we  hear  her  glad  refrain, 
"  Mamma 's  coming  home  again." 
Dearest  music  for  the  soul 
Do  these  little  songsters  hold ; 
Sweetest  mysteries  of  life, 
They  to  us  unfold. 

Happy  darling  !     Do  you  hear  ? 
Birds  are  singing  very  near, 
Thoughts  of  home  within  stirring, 
Thoughts  of  loved  ones  are  bringing 
Joy  and  gladness  to  my  life, 
Which  is  full  of  earnest  strife  ; 
And  trembling  with  a  deep  delight, 
Is  my  heart  to-night. 


A  JINGLE. 

TINGLE  !  jingle ! 

Dingle !  dingle ! 
Sings  this  little  head  of  thine. 

Baby  loves  it ; 

Baby  wants  it ; 
Baby  is  my  valentine. 

Listen,  pretty  ! 

To  my  ditty, 
It  is  written  for  a  dime  ; 

If  the  jingle, 

And  the  dingle, 
Suit  your  fancy,  you  are  mine. 


For  Baby  Adalyn. 


LAMBKIN. 

•"THE  lambkin's  bleat !  bleat ! 
Comes  up  from  the  fold : 
"Oh,  mamma,  where  are  you? 
I  am  very  cold." 

The  old  sheep's  baa !  baa  ! 

Comes  back  to  the  lamb : 
"  Oh,  come  to  me,  dearest ; 

I  '11  snuggle  you  warm." 


THE  DIAMOND   NECKLACE. 

*1PWO  loving  little  maidens  sat, 

Upon  a  summer's  day ; 
Before  them  on  a  velvet  cushion, 
A  diamond  necklace  lay. 

They  looked  upon  its  beauty  rare 
With  long  admiring  gaze, 

Marking  its  brilliant  scintillations, 
Its  bright  reflected  rays. 

"  Oh,  when  I  am  a  woman  grown, 
Such  jewels  will  I  wear," 

Said  one.  The  other,  "  Oh,  that  I 
Had  jewels  still  more  fair  ! " 


184  THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE. 

In  the  darkening,  deepening  twilight, 

Of  a  cold  winter's  day, 
Two  women  sat  in  love's  embrace, 

Recounting  life's  long  way,  — 

The  one  in  robe  of  ermine  fur, 
With  jewels  rich  and  rare ; 

The  other  in  her  plain  attire, 
No  jewels,  but  so  fair. 

They  talked  of  their  ambitions  once, 

Upon  that  summer  day, 
When  sparkling  to  their  youthful  eyes, 

The  diamond  necklace  lay. 

"  So  great  were  my  desires  once, 

For  jewels  were  my  joy, 
But  oh,  how  they  have  tarnished  since. 

Possession  can  destroy." 


THE  DIAMOND  NECKLACE.  185 

"  T  is  true  I  longed  for  jewels,  too, 
But  asked  for  some  more  fair ; 

Richer  gifts  were  then  bestowed, 
Through  children's  loving  care." 


TO  THE  LINNET. 

T   INNET  !  linnet ! 
Wait  a  minute, 
I  have  searched  for  you  all  day ; 

Heard  you  singing 

In  the  thicket : 
Come  and  tell  me  where  you  stay. 

Sweetest  singer, 

In  the  tree-tops, 
Show  your  pretty  nest  to  me ; 

I  shall  not  rob  you, 

I  shall  not  harm  you, 
I  shall  not  steal  your  eggs  to  see. 


TO   THE  LINNET.  187 

I  will  protect  you, 

I  will  love  you, 
Oh,  my  pretty  linnet  gay ; 

Sing  your  sweetest 

Lays  and  ditties, 
To  amuse  me  while  at  play. 

SQUIBNOCKET. 
For  Ralph  Emerson  Thompson,  at  his  request. 


NATURE'S  UNDERTONES. 

HPHERE  is  music  everywhere ; 

Floating  in  the  balmy  air, 
Where  the  melody  of  praise 
Can  its  sweetest  notes  upraise  ; 
Dwelling  in  the  summer  breeze, 
These  are  its  soliloquies : 
"  Trust  your  pretty  leaves  to  me, 
To  make  music  o'er  the  lea  ; 
I  will  clap  their  hands  for  joy 
In  a  world  of  song." 

Music,  when  the  Autumn  flower 
Yields  to  frost  its  brilliant  dower 
Dropping  from  the  parent  stem, 
Singing  its  own  requiem, 


NATURE'S   UNDERTONES.  189 

Floating,  floating  down  to  lie 
At  the  feet  of  trees  to  die, 
Coming  from  the  little  rill 
As  it  tumbles  down  the  hill, 
On  its  gambols  free  and  wild, 
Merry  as  a  child. 

Music  in  the  rolling  spheres, 
As  they  travel  through  the  years 
Scattering,  from  their  starry  light, 
Brightness  through  the  darkest  night ; 
Till  each  ray  a  brilliant  note 
Can  our  happiness  promote  ; 
No  sweeter  anthem,  we  confess, 
Than  the  music  stars  possess, 
Mingling  with  the  pale  moon's  ray 
Night's  sweet  roundelay. 

List  the  music  of  the  snow 
Gently  falling,  soft  and  low ; 


190  NATURE'S   UNDERTONES. 

Sweet  the  strains  its  voices  give, 
Singing,  singing  we  shall  live, 
To  the  thirsty  earth  restore 
Budding,  blooming  time  once  more. 
Music  children  love  to  hear, 
Ringing  through  the  air  so  clear, 
Is  the  jingling  sleigh-bells'  chime 
And  the  crackling  rime. 

E'en  all  harsh  disturbing  noise 
Vibrates  with  a  certain  poise, 
Some  rich  strains  the  heart  will  fill 
That  is  music's  best  idyl ; 
Though  some  notes  are  harsh,  severe, 
They  make  the  harmony  appear. 
Yield  yourself  to  be  caressed 
By  music  not  in  words  expressed, 
For  the  rhythmic  waves  of  sound 
Everywhere  abound. 


NATURE'S   UNDERTONES. 


Oh,  the  musical  breath  of  the  air, 
And  the  musical  rush  of  the  sea, 

And  the  musical  whirr  of  things  unseen, 
All  are  sounding  an  anthem  to  me. 

Note  the  whistling  in  tops  of  the  pines, 
With  the  rustling  of  beautiful  leaves ; 

All  the  rhythmical  voice  of  the  winds 
Into  wonderful  song  interweaves. 


191 


THE  FUTURE. 

what  are  you  thinking,  little  mother, 
As  back  to  my  studies  I  go  ? 
Tell  me  your  thoughts,  the  moments  are  fleeting, 
That  bear  me  away  de  novo" 

"  I  am  thinking,  my  boy,  of  your  future ; 

The  present,  so  joyously  full, 
Giving  promise  of  all  that  is  noble, 

If  the  right  you  never  annul. 

"  I  am  thinking  how  quickly  this  future 
Will  bring  you  life's  duties  to  face  ; 

Added  to  courage  that  knowledge  can  give, 
There  must  be  a  heart  full  of  grace. 


THE  FUTURE.  193 

"  I  am  thinking  the  almanac's  record 
Will  mark  many  days  in  their  flight, 

Ere  again  we  sit  down  thus  together, 
And  talk  of  our  love  as  to-night. 

"  So  I  leave  you,  my  boy,  to  your  study, 

Though  evil  is  everywhere  rife, 
And  pray  God  to  bless  you  and  guide  you 

In  planning  and  training  for  life." 


THE  END. 


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M       D       CCCC      IX 


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